UNI 


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LIBRARY 

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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


A  CHANGE 
WITH  THE  SEASONS 

DR 

AK  EPISODE  OF  CASTLE  CRAGS 
A    NOVEL 


BY 


DUNCAN    GUMMING 


DUNSMUIR,  CAL. 

THE  DUNSMUIR  PUBLISHING  CO. 
1897 


i    \«^  <^-^v-v^^vvxAJv<UQ-^          V*~t"*  C 

A   CHANGE 
WITH   THE  SEASONS 

A    NOVEL 


BY 


DUNCAN    GUMMING 


r 


DUNSMUIB,  CAL. 

THE  DUNSMUIR  PUBLISHING  CO. 

1897 


F85 


Copyright.  1897 
By  G.  D.  CUMMINGS 
All  rights  reserved 


A  CHANQE  WITH  THE  5EA50NS 


PART     I. 

CHAPTER     I. 


[HE  regular  Oregon-bound  express  train  had 
just  pulled  into  the  little  station  of  Castle 
Crags  as  the  morning  sun  was  peeping 
over  the  eastern  hills,  between  the  boughs 
of  the  tall  pine  trees  and  casting  its  mel- 
low light  on  the  rippling  waters  of  the 
clear  sparkling  Sacramento  river,  which 
was  humming  a  sweet  tune  to  the  delicate 
ferns  of  its  banks  as  it  bounded  on  towards 
the  Balboa  sea. 

The  usual  bevy  of  young  city  belles  had 
strolled  down  to  the  station  to  meet  the 
train,  and  see  what  it  might  have  this 
morning  to  add  to  their  contingent  of  youth  and 
beauty.  They  were  part  of  San  Francisco's  fash- 
ionable set  who  spend  their  summers  in  the 


6          A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

mountains,  or  at  the  watering  places  by  the  sea- 
shore; and  the  Tavern  of  Castle  Crags,  where  they 
are  now  stopping,  is  one  of  the  most  fashionable 
resorts  in  California.  The  notable  attracts  ns  are 
the  wooded  glens,  mountain  crags,  mineral  springs 
and  crystal  streams.  The  gray  granite  peaks  of 
Castle  Crags  and  the  distant  view  of  Mount  Shasta 
are  always  attractions  to  draw  the  tourist  from 
afar,  and  the  pretty  girls  who  congregated  there 
when  this  story  opened  would  draw  anything  that 
wasn't  fossilized. 

The  usual  crowd  of  idlers,  stragglers,  rail- 
roaders, sawmillers,  woodchoppers,  etc.,  were  also 
loitering  around  the  little  quaint  station-house,  to 
see  what  was  going  on;  and,  standing  apart  from 
the  throng  were  two  listless  young  men,  of  a 
strikingly  high  stamp  of  culture,  gazing  carelessly 
at  the  stir,  bustle  and  life  which  the  dusty  train 
had  created,  and  not  apparently  caring  who  ar- 
rived, departed  or  stayed. 

A  gentleman  and  lady  were  seen  to  descend  the 
steps  of  one  of  the  Pullman  coaches,  brush  by  the 
two  loitering  young  men,  glide  through  the  bevy 
of  pretty  girls  from  the  metropolis,  idlers,  etc., 
etc.,  and  mount  the  tavern  carriage — the  damsels 
opened  their  pretty  eyes  in  wonderment;  the  mill- 
men  brushed  the  sawdust  from  their  hair;  the 
railroaders  gave  their  accustomed  stare;  and  one 
of  the  listless  young  men  (the  youngest  and  least 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS          7 

"strikingly"  of  the  pair)  exclaimed  "well! — Ben, 
did  you  ever  see  such  a  stunner  as  that  ?" 

Ben  stood  for  fully  two  minutes,  lost  in  thought 
— apparently  watching  the  sunbeams  dance  upon 
the  jagged  peaks  of  Castle  Crags — till  finally  his 
thoughts  found  expression  in  the  inquiry:  "Such 
a  stunner  as  what?" 

"That  apparition  who  just  floated  down  from 
the  train." 

"Did  I? — well — never — yes!  I  must  have 
known  her — Ihose  eyes!  When  have  T  looked  in 
them  before? — Am  I  dreaming?  or  is  this  the 
woman  of  my  fancy  ?" 

"She  must  have  stunned  you,  sure  enough," 
broke  in  his  companion,  dryly. 

"Pardon  me !  She  reminded  me  of  some  one  I 
have  known — of  herself,  perhaps  —  for  I  have 
never  met  anyone  like  her  before,"  he  murmured. 

"Or  no  one  else  has." 

"I  believe  that  is  my  affinity.  Do  you  know 
that  I  some  times  believe  there  is  a  hidden  truth 
in  the  teachings  of  Buddhism,  and  that  a  person 
mav  meet  with  spirits  whom  they  have  known  in 
some  other  existence?  That  idea  was  never  so 
strongly  impressed  on  me  as  at  this  very  moment, 
and  I  believe  that  this  woman  must  have  been 
associated  with  me  at  some  indeffinate  time  in  the 
mysterious  past." 

"Nonsense!    I  never  heard  you  talk  so  before." 


8          A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

"I  have  never  felt  so  before,  and  I  have  out- 
lived the  love  affairs  of  yonth — but  that  woman — 
one  glimpse  of  her!"  he  continued,  partly  talking 
to  himself.  "I  must  have  known  her.  It  may 
have  been  in  my  dreams,  or  in  some  other  world." 

"What  a  ridiculous  idea." 

"It  ia  not  ridiculous  at  all,  if  it  is  so,  and  it  has 
as  much  in  its  favor  as  any  other  view  we  have  of 
the  unknown." 

"I  have  become  smitten  with  this  'mysterious' 
attraction  myself,"  remarked  his  companion,  "but 
I  never  remember  having  any  associations,  or 
liaisons  on  anyother  sphere  with  her." 

"Who  said  that  I  was  smitten  ?"  reiterated  the 
speaker  addressed  as  Ben;  feeling  piqued  at  the 
light  remarks  of  his  companion,  over  a  sentiment 
which  had  so  unexpectedly  taken  such  a  firm  hold 
of  him.  For  the  brief  glance  of  the  lovely  wo- 
man had  awakened  long,  slumbering  emotions, 
which  really  had  never  before  resolved  themselves 
into  definite  forms.  Her  eyes  had  just  met  his 
for  a  moment,  but  in  that  moment  he  was  attract- 
ed as  though  with  the  love  of  the  infinite.  "This 
thing  may  sound  foolish  to  you,"  he  continued, 
but  I  have  been  similarly  impressed  several  times 
before  by  the  opposite  sex  when  I  met  them  for 
the  first  time,  though  not  so  forcibly — and  they 
went  their  way  and  I  went  mine — and  still  they 
are  the  people  who  I  would  like  to  live  with 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS          9 

through  all  time." 

"That's  moonshine,  Ben,  pure  and  simple." 

"There  is  probably  a  something  that  we  know 
not  of  in  our  lighter  hours,  and  being  as  you  are 
always  light  (lightweight)  it  was  not  supposed 
that  you  should  understand  a  sentiment  so  deep 
and  unfathomable,  therefore  I  was  partly  address- 
ing myself  to  the  sympathetic  peaks!"  he  mutter- 
ed, hardly  audible,  as  his  gaze  wandered  back  to 
the  mountain. 

"Perhaps  you  have  known  her  before  Ben," 
broke  in  the  younger  man  after  a  short  pause. 

"I  am  pretty  certain  that  we  have  never  met 
before  in  this  life;  but  then  it  seems  that  I  have 
known  her — she  gave  me  a  glance  of  recognition 
wrhich  is  sometimes  exchanged  between  kindred 
souls." 

"Those  are  some  of  the  fancies  of  your  poetic 
imagination." 

"This  is  no  passing  fancy,  I  assure  you.  I  will 
never  forget  this  meeting  by  chance — see  what  an 
attraction  she  is  creating  as  she  rides  through  the 
passing  throng  ?  How  she  lays  her  head  back  on 
her  pretty  neck  ?"  he  continued,  in  an  admiring 
mood.  "As  though  she  longed  to  rest  it  on  some 
one's  breast.  Look  at  the  way  that  beautiful 
dark-brown  hair  clusters  around  her  ears, — defy- 
ing the  breeze — clinging  in  an  embrace  which  de- 
notes love  and  refinement!  I  am  always  falling 


10        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

in  love  with  a  pretty  bead  of  hair." 

"I  believe  you  are  falling  in  love  with  every- 
thing in  sight  to-day.  You  seemed  to  be  about 
as  badly  enamored  with  Miss  Hortense  this  morn- 
ing." 

"That  is  strange.  Well,  the  only  women  I  have 
ever  loved  in  my  life  were  those  I  loved  at  first 
sight."  He  replied  gravely,  and  he  seemed  to 
realize  that  those  two  loves  of  to-day  would  be 
with  him  for  life.  And,  as  the  'buss  wound  to- 
wards the  tavern  with  its  precious  load  of  freight, 
he  relapsed  into  silence,  and  turned  his  eyes  again 
towards  the  gray  rocks  of  the  Crags. 

"I  wonder  who  her  male  escort  can  be?"  re- 
marked his  young  friend,  badly  smitten  with  the 
fair  traveler  too.  "He  must  surely  be  her  father," 
he  mused.  "Such  a  beautiful  creature  as  that 
cannot  possibly  be  married  to  a  man  over  fifty 
and  she  not  out  of  her  teens,  if  I'm  a  judge.  I 
have  never  met  either  in  society  in  San  Francisco, 
or  at  Burlingame  or  Del  Monte.  But  whoever 
she  is  1  will  make  a  raid  on  her  affections  before 
she  leaves  the  tavern,  or  we  will  know  why.  My 
friend  here  thinks  he  has  a  mash,  but  he  is  too  ro- 
mantic, aren't  you  ?"  twitting  his  companion  in  a 
mischievous  manner. 

"For  one  taste  of  her  rosy  lips 
And  a  glance  of  her  winsome  eye." 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        11 

Sang  the  other  in  reply. 

"Her  escort  is  a  regular  old  Arachnoidea  too, 
Don't  you  think  so,  Ben  ?  It  wouldn't  surprise 
me  a  bit  to  see  him  weaving  webs  from  tree  to 
tree." 

"Well,  he  had  better  not  weave  any  webs 
around  me." 

"Or  me  either.  But  I  am  beginning  to  think 
he  has  a  web  woven  around  that  young  girl." 

"Well,  lets  go  and  brush  away  the  web. 

"Yes,  and  we  will  tangle  him  in  his  own  woof." 

The  last  speaker,  whose  name  is  Cloyd  Landers, 
is  a  scion  of  one  of  San  Francisco's  wealthy 
families,  who  is  sojourning  at  this  pleasant 
mountain  resort  for  a  few  months  to  see  what  he 
can  get  out  of  country  life,  and,  as  his  parents 
hope,  where  he  will  be  removed  from  the  tempta- 
tions of  gin  and  other  forms  of  city  vice.  He  is 
a  good  natured  young  man,  and,  like  many  of  his 
class,  puts  wine  and  woman  ahead  of  all  earthly 
enjoyments. 

His  companion,  Ben  Bynington,  is  living  in  the 
mountains  at  present  because  he  is  not  particularly 
living  anywhere  else. 

He  is  a  bohemian  from  bohemianville,  and  not 
one  of  the  fashionable  set,  or  part  of  the  four 
hundred,  although  he  is  associating  with  them  to 
some  extent  at  the  time  this  narrative  opens.  A 
large-sized,  good-looking  man,  descended  from  a 


12        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

hardy  stock,  with  a  pleasant  face,  a  little  marred 
by  care  and  dissipation;  but  still  youthful,  and 
the  eyes  are  bright  with  that  tender  luster  so  few 
possess. 

He  is  considerably  older  than  his  companion 
and  different  in  every  way;  but  they  have  some- 
how taken  a  great  liking  for  each  other,  and  the 
young  sapling  has  recognized  the  superiority  of 
his  associate,  while  they  both  have  a  natural 
weakness  for  the  opposite  sex.  Not  that  they  are 
particularly  bad  in  this  line,  but  neither  of  them 
could  resist  any  love  affair  which  presented  itself  in 
their  environment,  and  Landers  considers  himself 
a  real  breaker  of  hearts. 

Bynington  has  very  peculiar  ideas  on  this  sub- 
ject also.  He  has  not  the  reverence  for  chastity 
and  spotless  reputations  that  some  matrons  and 
good  religious  people  have  (a  fault  which  I  am 
very  sorry  to  find  in  my  hero,  but  I  have  no 
power  to  change  his  ideas). 

In  viewing  a  female  from  this  particular  stand- 
point, he  just  simply  does  not  care  for,  nor 
respect  her  because  she  is  living  an  immaculate 
life — he  only  pities  her.  He  believes  that  wo- 
men should  have  the  same  rights  as  men,  and 
practices  what  he  preaches. 

Not  that  he  is  a  great  rake  himself,  but  he  be- 
lieves in  love,  and  thinks  it  is  morally  right  to 
partake  of  its  fruits  while  young,  because,  if  when 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        13 

one  grows  old  be  has  missed  the  enjoyment  in  the 
only  life  he  is  sure  of  living,  he  has  suffered  an 
irreparable  loss. 

This  man  is  not  an  ignoramus.  He  has  held 
responsible  positions  on  the  editorial  staff  of  some 
of  the  foremost  daily  papers  in  the  United  States, 
has  played  successful  parts  on  the  histrionic  stage, 
and  has  written  some  very  good  poetry,  and 
dabbled  in  literature  generally. 

Besides  this  he  has  been  an  extensive  traveler; 
knows  all  about  the  world  and  its  inhabitants;  a 
lover  of  women  and  books;  and  a  truly  warm- 
hearted, interesting  individual  to  those  few  whom 
he  chooses  as  his  friends. 

His  ideal  character  in  history  seems  to  be  about 
one  of  Byron's  creations: 

"He  loved  the  muses  and  the  sex; 
And  sometimes  these  so  fro  ward  are, 
They  made  him  wish  himself  at  war, 
But  soon  his  wrath  being  o'er,  he  took 
Another  mistress,  or  new  book." 

Not  that  he  is  having  any  such  a  glorious  time 
himself,  but  he  considers  that  old  king  the  hap- 
piest man  on  earth. 

He  is  a  person  who  appears  to  be  frank  and 
open,  and  while  he  finds  out  all  about  your  busi- 
IH  ss,  without  directly  questioning  you  either,  you 
have  succeeded  in  learning  very  little  about  him, 

2 


14        A  CHANGE   WITH   THE  SEASONS 

or  his  affairs.  In  fact  the  people  who  associated 
with  him  for  several  months  had  not  the  slightest 
idea  what  his  calling  was,  while  he  knew  their 
history  for  several  generations. 

His  age  is  anywhere  between  thirty  and  thirty- 
five,  and  although  he  has  dipped  into  numerous 
dissipations  he  still  looks  young  and  has  boyish 
ways. 

A  character  rather  out  of  the  commonplace, 
indeed. 

His  reasons  for  being  found  dallying  around  a 
summer  resort,  "mashing"  sundry  dames,  in  place 
of  following  his  vocation  in  the  city  along  with 
other  Bohemians,  are  well  known  to  himself,  if 
not  to  the  people  with  whom  he  is  associating. 
He  has  found  that  his  constitution  is  so  shattered 
that  he  can  live  more  at  ease  out  on  the  plains  or 
jn  the  mountains  than  anywhere  else.  Though 
he  is  aware  of  this  himself  it  has  not  been  reveal- 
ed to  others,  and  by  his  looks  they  would  never 
suspect  it.  He  has  learned  to  preside  over  his 
own  physique  and  is  trying  to  discover  how  to 
control  his  own  destiny. 

When  one  comes  to  study  his  character  closely 
he  learns  that  it  is  a  contradiction.  He  is  a  pecul- 
iar individual  who  may  be  considered  soft  and 
hard;  and  a  number  of  Shylocks,  who  tried  to 
impose  upon  his  implicit  credulity  at  different 
times,  came  out  grievously  disappointed.  Though* 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        15 

with  all  his  genius  and  knowledge  of  the  world, 
he  is  still  poor.  This  may  be  partly  accounted 
for,  because  he  is  always  a  victim  to  the  adversity 
of  chance,  and  partly  because  he  would  rather 
follow  the  object  of  his  fancy  than  to  glean  where 
his  financial  interests  lie.  In  fact  he  cares  nothing 
about  money  so  long  as  he  has  enough  to  pay 
expenses,  and  his  talents  can  always  be  relied 
upon  to  produce  enough  for  that. 

I  called  him  a  genius.  That  he  is  endowed 
with  this  divine  gift  has  been  demonstrated  quite 
unexpectedly  at  different  times,  though  very  often 
indolent,  and  some  times  considered  real  stupid. 
It  was  during  the  latter  intervals  that  the  sharks 
were  so  badly  taken  in  when  they  thought  they 
had  a  piece  of  live  matter  to  be  used  to  their 
advantage. 

He  is  the  same  contradiction  in  his  makeup; 
generally  careless  about  his  personal  appearance 
and  toilet,  though  sensitive  and  proud  to  a  degree 
scarcely  comprehensible  to  the  everyday  mortal 
with  whom  he  comes  in  contact,  and  never  rightly 
understood. 

So  he  and  his  young  "Pacifiecoastbred"  com- 
panion, whose  character  has  developed  nothing 
yet  worthy  a  description  (though  it  may  develop 
a  great  deal  if  he  does  not  soon  learn  to  curtail 
his  indulgence  in  wine  and  woman),  sauntered 


16        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

over  to  the  tavern  and  glanced  at  the  register: 


JOSEPH  AREGAVE  AND  WIFE, 

SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA.' 


"Do  your  ej'es  behold  that,  Bynington?"  mur- 
mured young  Landers,  as  he  tried  to  push  the 
name  through  the  heavy  sheet  of  the  register  with 
his  fingers.  "Go  and  throw  your  unfortunate 
remnants  in  the  Sacramento  river  and  be  done 
with  earth  forever. 

"I  know  you  are  worse  stricken  with  that  lavish 
looking  piece  of  female  loveliness  than  I  am,"  he 
continued.  "And  here,  before  we  get  a  second 
glimpse  of  her  angelic  form  and  roguish  eyes  we 
find  her  registered  as  the  wife  of  an  ugly  old  man. 
Pshaw!"  he  cried,  with  apparent  contemptuous 
disapprobation,  withdrawing  his  hand  from  the 
book.  "Go  off  and  die!" 

"You  seem  to  be  the  only  one  disappointed  in 
the  matter,"  replied  the  other,  calmly. 

"Oh,  I  am  not  disappointed !  There  is  a 
chance  that  I  may  be  able  to  amuse  the  lady  while 
the  old  man  is  absent,  but  you  will  be  barred 
from  basldng  in  the  sunshine  of  her  beauty  by  all 
events.  I  foresee  your  doom!" 

"Well,  I  am  not  discussing  the  subject.  Like 
Byron,  I  have  said  nothing,  and  said  it  grace fu  ly; 
but  you  seem  to  talk  about  strange  persons  rather 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        17 

disgracefully,"  and  (be  continued  in  an  under- 
tone) "those  ladies  have  overheard  your  remarks 
and  are  shocked." 

"A  conception  wouldn't  shock  them,"  the  young 
man  replied,  and  whistled  himself  over  to  the 
clubhouse  to  order  some  liquid  refreshments  on 

ice. 

The  other  made  no  signs  of  being  further  dis- 
turbed by  his  late  affair  of  the  heart  and  the  un- 
favorable turn  it  had  taken.  He  had  given  vent 
to  his  feelings  when  first  seeing  the  female  de- 
scend like  a  meteor  from  the  train,  but  now  he 
was  as  uncommunicative  as  the  hotel's  big  safe, 
and  stalked  as  bruskly  by  a  coterie  of  pretty 
young  damsels,  who  were  flooding  the  office  with 
their  morning  charms,  as  if  they  did  not  exist. 

One  of  them  remarked  that  Mr.  Bynington 
must  be  stricken  with  paralysis,  because  nothing 
but  the  immediate  approach  of  death  would  keep 
him  from  smiling  on  a  fair  female  face. 


18        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 


CHAPTER     II. 

Mrs.  Aregave  appeared  that  evening  among  the 
other  fashionable  guests  on  the  veranda  of  the 
tavern  and  she  was  truly  as  lovely  a  creature  as 
the  sun,  or  the  electric  lights,  ever  shone  upon. 

She  was  tall  and  graceful,  but  not  too  tall.  The 
rise  and  fall  of  her  partly-developed  bosom  was 
just  discernible.  Not  obtrusive,  as  it  generally 
becomes  in  a  matron;  but  an  early  healthy  flush  of 
young  innocence,  apparent  to  the  senses  as  well 
as  to  the  sight.  Her  eyes  were  of  that  bewilder- 
ing color  which  seem  to  change  under  different 
emotions — blue — but  they  are  sometimes  gray — 
but  when  they  throw  that  soft-seductive  glance  on 
some  one  they  love,  with  all  the  soul  of  feeling 
behind  it,  it  is  a  boon  which  anyone  would  almost 
sacrafice  his  hopes  of  the  hereafter  to  enjoy. 

Her  lips  were  that  red,  rosy  kissable  affair,  like 
the  petals  just  opening  on  a  rosebud,  and  looked 
as  though  the  fortunate  individual  whoever  got  a 
chance  to  kiss  them  would  never  leave  off  as  long 
as  he  was  conscious  of  mundane  existence.  I 
said  her  lips  were  like  a  rosebud;  but,  rather, 
they  resembled  the  newly  opened  bud  of  one  of 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        19 

the  smaller  varieties  of  the  cacti,  which  grows 
near  the  ground,  and  is  all  white  and  red — red 
and  white — and  seems  to  be  opening  to  be  kissed. 
It  is  the  flower  of  her  native  heath,  as  they  were 
both  nourished  to  life  on  the  same  soil,  and 
breathed  of  the  same  warm  air. 

Her  whole  form  and  being  was  one  of  kindness, 
lavableness  and  trust.  She  was  not  half  so 
ambitious  for  wealth  and  power  as  she  was  de- 
lighted to  have  some  one  to  love  her.  And  all  she 
would  really  ask  of  a  man  would  be  to  give  her 
enough  to  eat,  and  his  entire  affections;  though 
rumor  has  already  spread  that  she  was  a  poor,  un- 
known orphan,  who  had  married  the  rich  old 
Joseph  Aregave  for  his  wealth,  he  being  worth 
several  millions  in  gold  coin,  mortgages,  lands 
and  mines. 

Nina  Aregave,  as  her  full  name  proved  to  be, 
was  one  of  the  most  natural  little  offsprings  of  the 
human  race  probably  ever  seen  in  a  civilized 
country.  Her  appearance  at  Castle  Crag  was  an 
event  never  to  be  forgotten  by  the  sojourners 
there,  and  the  impression  she  made  on  man,  wo- 
man and  child  will  be  remembered  for  life.  There 
were  many  young  maidens  quartered  at  the  Castle 
Crag  resort  at  the  time,  and  I  can  say  without 
flattery,  or  a  chance  of  being  disputed,  that  Cali- 
fornia produces  as  many  beautiful,  voluptuous 
women  as  any  place  on  the  face  of  the  globe;  but 


20        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

the  beauty  of  Mrs.  Aregave  was  exceptional  to 
any  country,  and  it  really  found  its  birthplace 
down  on  the  desert,  where  the  thorny  giant  cactus 
(night-blooming  cereus)  looks  over  a  dried-up 
waste  of  sand.  As  some  of  the  rarest,  loveliest 
flowers  in  the  world  bloom  upon  the  bosom  of 
that  produce-forsaken  strand,  so  she,  the  most 
precious  flower  of  all,  was  reared  away  out  on 
that  solemn  trackless  lonely  waste,  that  one  learns 
to  love  if  he  lives  there  for  any  certain  length  of 
time. 

Omnia  praeclara  rara. 

Her  growth  to  womanhood  on  the  free-unham- 
pered level  plains  and  low-rolllog  hills,  and  her' 
out-door  life  in  the  warm  sunshine,  had  developed 
something  quite  different  from  the  house-hold, 
matron-bred  girl  of  the  period.  Her  frank,  trust- 
ful, affectionate  nature  and  awkward  girlish  ways, 
linked  with  her  wonderful  beauty,  were  really 
something  puzzling,  and  they  drove  her  male 
admirers  to  distraction — and  they  were  every  man 
she  met. 

There  was  something  about  her  that  made  a 
man  wish  to  rest  his  head  upon  her  breast  and  be 
at  peace  with  all  the  world — and  the  universe. 
She  had  been  reared  in  a  land  of  unextinguished 
fire,  and  had  absorbed  part  of  it  in  her  nature, 
and  every  man  she  met  was  attracted  ~by  its  flame. 

The  young  San  Francisco  belles  having  such  a 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        21 

rival  as  this  were  entirely  blotted  out  of  men's 
thoughts. 

She  had  been  taught  the  rudiments  of  an  edu- 
cation at  home  and  was  then  sent  to  advanced 
schools,  the  last  being  a  Normal  School  in  South- 
ern California.  Outside  of  this  book  learning 
she  was  entirely  ignorant  of  the  world.  She  had 
a  chaperon  in  the  person  of  an  old  Mexican  wo- 
man, who  had  always  lived  in  the  family.  Of 
course  the  old  crone  knew  enough  to  keep  men 
away  from  a  young  girl  while  she  was  single,  but 
after  marriage — she  could  go  as  she  pleased — that 
is  the  Mexican  style. 

Such  is  this  young  daughter  of  earth,  who  we 
met  up  near  the  base  of  Mount  Shasta,  and  who 
caused  the  production  of  this  tale. 

As  lovable  a  creature  as  she  is,  though,  it  is 
doubtful  whether  there  is  much  affection  in  the 
Aregave  family  or  not;  there  seems  to  be  some- 
thing lacking;  and  then  they  are  not  well  suited 
or  adapted  to  each  other;  and  that  passionate  na- 
ture of  hers  cannot  long  survive  without  some 
strong  attachment  to  cling  to. 

She  knows  not  what  is  before  her  though,  poor 
girl,  that  affection  of  hers  will  be  stretched  to  its 
utmost  tension  before  another  summer  rolls 
around,  and  strong  were  she  indeed  if  she  could 
resist  the  pressure  of  a  man  warmer  in  passion, 
stronger  in  love  than  herself. 

4 


22        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 


CHAPTER     III. 

The  next  morning  she  was  out  bright  and  early, 
like  the  bee,  trying  to  sip  the  honey  from  the 
flowers  before  it  was  kissed  away  by  the  sun. 

I  said  bright  and  early,  but  the  sun  does  not 
get  a  sweep  at  that  part  of  the  canyon  until  about 
8  or  9  o'clock  A.  M.,  so  I  suppose  she  was  out  at 
least  by  8.  The  other  guests  \vould  probably  all 
be  up  by  10,  if  they  had  not  been  up  too  late  the 
night  before  and  were  in  a  good  sober  condition. 

The  scenery  around  the  tavern  was  so  pretty 
that  she  took  a  run  up  on  the  hillside  among  the 
trees,  where  a  thick  grove  of  evergreens  looked 
friendly  and  enticing.  Here  was  the  freedom  of 
the  plains  and  the  forest  that  she  loved  so  well. 
Every  budding  leaf  spoke  of  the  fellowship  of  na- 
ture— the  act  of  developing  into  a  sexual  being, 
capable  of  loving  and  enjoying  the  senses  of  life 
— and  the  air  was  so  buoyant  and  light  that  she 
went  almost  wild  with  delight,  and  ran  happily 
through  the  grove,  singing  and  talking  to  the 
natural  wild  elements  of  the  forest. 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        23 

"O,  ye  dear  old  trees!''  she  cried,  "I  can  hug 
and  kiss  you  with  a  truly  platonic  affection.  You 
stand  so  quietly,  disdaining  our  run-around, 
struggling,  fighting  lives !  You  seem  so  shelter- 
ing to  one  who  is  growing  heart-sick.  Oh,  how 
you  remind  me  of  the  happy  days  of  my  youth ! — 
the  scenes  around  my  childhood  desert  home — 
give  me  your  shelter  and  sympathy,  Oh  monarch 
of  the  forest !  ye  breathe  the  same  air  that  I  do. 

"I  can  hug  you  and  love  you,"  she  cried  with 
the  fullness  of  her  heart,  as  she  wrapped  her  arms 
around  a  young  pine,  "and  you,  you  old  sentinel 
of  the  mountains,  I  must  hug  you  too,  and  you!" 
she  went  on  hugging  the  forest,  regardless  of  get- 
ting her.  arms  plastered  with  balsam. 

"And  hug  me  too !"  gasped  a  form  a  few  feet 
in  front  of  her. 

And  looking  up  she  was  startled  to  see  that  she 
had  come  within  a  foot  of  bugging  a  strange  man. 

Neither  of  them  could  do  more  than  stare  at 
each  other,  as  they  did  not  have  presence  of  mind 
enough  to  laugh  at  the  ridiculous  part  of  the 
situation.  It  seemed  so  absurd,  especially  on  her 
part,  to  be  going  around  the  woods  hugging 
thiugs  inanimate  and  animate. 

But  neither  smiled — they  just  gazed  in  each 
other's  eyes,  till  the  strange  creatures  imagined 
that  they  had  always  known  each  other,  and  were 
a  part  of  the  first  two  kindred  souls  created,  and 


• 


24        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

were  still  out  in  the  primeval  woods,  on  a  sphere 
inhabited  by  no  one  but. themselves.  Children  of 
the  same  kin,  made  up  of  atoms  that  had  been 
linked  together  in  a  bond  of  love  in  the  distant 
past;  and  their  sympathetic  planes  filled  with  the 
love-light  of  the  wounded  doe  gazing  upon  her 
helpless  fawn,  as  they  stood  there — partly  un- 
conscious of  life — just  their  inner  beings  holding 
a  telegraphic  conversation  with  each  other.  It 
was  one  of  the  queer,  unexplainable  things  of  na- 
ture, that  two  people  should  recognize  each  other 
as  old  friends  the  first  time  they  met,  and  imagine 
there  is  a  love  between  them  that  had  existed  be- 
fore the  birth  of  this  life — had  commenced  at 
Times  dawn. 

There  may  be  a  possibility  that  people  meet 
part  of  the  atoms  they  had  associated  with  in 
some  other  life:  that  is,  providing  we  admit  the 
hypothesis  that  they  lived  the  other  life,  which  is 
not  at  all  certain,  and  we  believe  not  admitted  by 
the  Christian  world. 

She  finally  dropped  her  eyes  and  walked  back 
to  the  hotel,  her  mind  all  in  a  flutter.  She  felt 
ashamed  because  this  man  had  heard  her  pouring 
out  her  soul  to  the  elements;  puzzled  whether  she 
had  really  known  him  before  or  not;  why  he 
seemed  to  be  a  pa  rt  of  her  very  self;  and  who  he 
could  be  anyway.  All  those  thoughts  seemed  to 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        25 

be  crisscrossing  themselves  in  her  brain  as  she 
returned  to  the  hotel  and  sit  down  alone  in  the 
corner  of  the  dining  room  to  eat  her  breakfast; 
her  spouse  having  already  partaken  of  his. 

"Had  that  man  come  out  on  the  plains  when  I 
was  a  girl,"  she  mused,  "before  I  went  away  to 
prosaic  school,  and  become  old  and  worn;  and  we 
had  loved  and  li^ed  together;  driving  cattle  over 
the  plains,  and  watching  the  lazy  lizard  basking 
in  the  sunshine  on  the  mulberry  tree  by  the  cool 
spring,  and  the  quail  calling  to  his  mate  from  un- 
der the  screw-pod  mezquite;  without  any  idea  of 
the  outer  world,  cit}'  life,  society,  or  the  struggles 
of  humanity,  how  happy  I  could  have  been !  Such 
fate  was  not  intended  for  me,  and  love  and 
happiness  will  never  be  mine  !"  And  she  sighed 
so  deeply  that  the  pretty  little  English  girl  who 
waited  on  the  table  came  over  to  her  side  to  ex- 
tend her  sympathy,  if  the  beautiful  young  lady  of 
wealth  would  have  it. 

But  no,  she  was  thinking  of  the  tender  look 
given  her  that  morning  by  a  strange  man  in  the 
woods. 

Alas !  they  had  been  too  earnest  at  that  first 
meeting  for  their  own  peace  of  mind,  when  they 
met  again  and  became  better  acquainted  they 
would  only  steal  sly  glances  at  each  other — which 
might  have  attracted  the  attention  of  a  close 
observer,  but  the  people  on  their  summer  outing 


26        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

were  not  observing  so  closely — and  that  very 
seldom  when  in  the  presence  of  others. 

Many  times  that  day  she  wondered  who  the 
man  was  who  had  aroused  her  curiosity  to  such  an 
extent,  and  would  give  anything  to  know  whether 
he  stopped  at  the  hotel  or  was  just  some  wild 
man  of  the  woods.  She  took  pains  to  notice  all 
the  male  guests  there,  but  had  not  as  yet  seen 
him,  so  she  made  up  her  mind  that  the  passing 
fascination  was  a  very  foolish  one  and  she  would 
think  no  more  about  it. 

So  she  seated  herself  by  the  window  in  the 
spacious  office,  which  looked  so  much  like  the  in- 
terior of  an  old  English  tavern  in  the  time  of 
Queen  Anne,  and  so  very  homelike;  and  looked 
out  at  the  window  on  the  pretty  landscape,  the 
winding  river  and  the  gray  old  peaks  of  Castle 
Crags  that  stood  away  up  against  the  blue  sky  mi 
the  other  side  of  the  river,  forming  a  background 
to  the  panorama  spread  before  her.  She  sat  and 
dreamed  of  her  childhood  and  the  wonderful 
changes  that  had  -already  taken  place  in  her  brief 
young  life.  Not  yet  within  a  year  or  two  of 
twenty,  and  persuaded  into  marrying  a  rich  old 
man  whom  she  cared  very  little  about.  She  might 
be  happy  and  contented  with  everything  which 
wealth  could  bestow,  but  it  did  not  suit  her  fancy 
and  poetic  imagination  to  be  so,  she  wanted  to 
have  romantic  love  affairs.  And,  us  we  hinted  be- 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        27 

fore,  there  was  something  lacking  in  this  marriage 
which  she  hardly  understood  herself. 

The  strange  man  came  into  her  vision  again,  and 
as  she  cast  her  eyes  over  the  lawn  she  saw  him 
coming  up  the  gravel  walk,  his  face  lit  up  with  an 
expression  she  called  the  light  of  genius. 

She  stepped  over  to  the  counter  and  asked  the 
clerk  who  the  gentleman  was. 

"That  is  Ben  Bynington,  madam/'  responded 
that  agreeable  functionary.  "He  is  a  very  enter- 
taining gentleman,  and  besides  putting  in  his  time, 
he  has  helped  to  make  considerable  amusement 
here  of  late,  in  the  way  of  private  theatricals  and 
other  functions.  Let  me  introduce  him?"  quizzed 
the  clerk,  always  ready  to  make  acquaintances 
among  the  guests,  or  to  work  up  affairs  which 
might  eventually  lead  into  something  more 
serious 

"Mr.  Bynington,  this  is  Mrs.  Aregave,  one  of 
our  latest  arrivals!"  said  the  functionary  as 
Bynington  entered. 

"Mr.  Bynington  is  acting  a  part  in  Julius 
Caesar  here  now,  just  for  amusement,  you  know. 
Do  you  ever  take  a  part  io  private  theatricals, 
Mrs.  Aregave?" 

"Oh,  dear,  no !  I  could  not  go  before  the 
public  on  the  stage,"  answered  the  lady.  "Though 
I  have  sang  a  little  in  that  line  in  a  small  way. 
Used  to  take  quite  an  interest  in  it  at  Normal 


28        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

School.  I  like  theatres  and  theatrical  people, 
what  I  have  seen  of  them." 

"Well,  that  is  just  what  we  need,  isn't  it,  Mr. 
Byningtou  ?"  asked  the  clerk.  "A  singer  for  the 
intervals  between  your  tragedy  and  Mr.  Landers' 
wit."  And  just  then  Mr.  Landers  came  down  the 
hall. 

"Mr.  Landers,  Mrs.  Aregave,"  and  Mr.  Landers 
bowed  to  the  lady  in  his  most  graceful  manner. 

The  new  acquaintances  fell  to  discussing  the 
drama,  and  made  arrangements  to  give  a  play — or 
selections  from  plays — for  the  amusement  of  the 
wives  and  daughters  of  San  Francisco's  four  hun- 
dred. 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        29 


CHAPTER     IV. 

Joseph  Aregave  was  a  wealthy  old  man  with 
very  little  wit,  and  would  pass  for  a  gentleman  all 
right  among  people  who  worship  gold  as  their 
king.  He  had  been  a  rough  enough  looking 
character  in  his  younger  days,  but  his  associations 
and  the  advantages  that  money  and  good  clothes 
gave  him  as  he  grew  older  made  him  appear  quite 
aristocratic. 

His  face  was  beginning  to  show  the  ravages  of 
time,  and  the  physical  essence  which  gave  vigor  to 
the  system  was  fast  drying  up. 

He  was  by  profession  a  money-loaner  and 
millionaire,  and  was  as  grasping  an  old  creature  as 
one  could  meet  with  anywhere.  The  usurer  was  a 
little  peculiar  himself.  He  had  come  to  the  Coast 
in  early  days,  then  a  young  boy  from  off  his 
father's  farm,  and  struggled  against  ill  luck  for 
many  years;  but  finally  he  got  to  accumulating 
money  and  developed  the  habit  of  hoarding  it. 
He  saw  how  money  could  be  made  by  loaning  it 

6 


30        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

at  big  interest,  with  a  dead-mortal-cinch  security, 
so  he  soon  developed  into  a  usurer  of  the  most 
pronounced  type  Every  idea  had  left  his  head 
but  per-cent,  per-cent ! 

He  lived  to  the  age  of  fifty  odd  years  without 
taking  to  himself  a  wife.  He  may  have  had  pretty 
good  reasons  for  this.  The  majority  of  women  he 
met  on  the  Pacific  Coast  in  his  younger  days  were 
not  worth  marrying,  and  those  who  were  worth 
marrying  would  not  have  him.  So  he  lived  on 
from  year  to  year  and  hoarded  up  wealth — just 
piled  it  up.  The  older  he  grew  the  meaner  he 
got,  and  he  ran  along  with  his  head  in  the  ground 
looking  for  per-cent,  per-cent ! 

He  had  lots  of  poor  relatives  in  the  East,  but 
he  could  afford  to  give  nothing  to  them.  How 
could  he  give  money  to  poor  relatives  when  he 
could  get  twelve  and  twenty-four  percent  interest, 
and  sometimes  thirty-six  per  cent? 

He  said  "I  never  make  it  si  point  to  loan  money 
unless  I  can  get  double  the  amount  in  security. 
Collateral  is  good  enough  if  there  is  enough  of  it, 
but  the  rate  of  interest  must  be  high  on  every 
thing  but  real  estate,  and  that  they  can  have 
money  on  at  twelve-per-cent,  twelve-per-cent  I" 
and  the  old  shark  would  twist  up  his  thumbs  and 
look  wise. 

He  was  really  as  surly  as  an  Apache;  as  calcu- 
latingly  sober  as  a  civil  engineer;  as  big  a  fraud 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        31 

as  a  politician;  and  as  witless  as  a  bank  cashier. 

And  it  so  happened  that  in  his  wanderings 
around  he  met  this  wonderfully  pretty  school  girl 
at  a  Normal  School  in  Southern  California,  and 
seeing  that  she  was  a  perfect  child  of  Nature  full 
of  the  first  burst  of  womanly  love  and  life,  and 
entirely  ignorant  of  the  world,  he  laid  plans  to 
capture  her — make  her  his  wife  so  he  would  have 
some  one  to  take  care  of  him  in  his  old  age — and 
succeeded. 

She  was  an  orphan  and  was  being  educated  by 
the  trustees  of  her  father's  estate,  which  consisted 
of  a  ranch  and  a  band  of  cattle  on  the  desert. 
Her  father  and  mother  had  been  killed  by  Indians 
when  she  was  a  little  girl  of  ten  or  twelve  years, 
and  she  escaped  with  the  old  Senora,  who  has 
been  her  only  companion  since. 

So  it  was  quite  in  the  probabilities  that  he 
should  succeed  in  a  small  affair  like  that.  A  man 
with  several  million  dollars  ought  to  be  able  to 
win  a  school  girl  of  slender  means,  if  he  went 
about  it  right;  and  the  Trustees  were  not  back- 
ward in  assisting  a  transaction  of  that  kind,  if 
there  was  a  consideration  in  it  for  them;  and  her 
old  Mexican  counseloress,  or  confessoress,  was  de- 
lighted to  see  her  married  and  off  her  hands,  so 
she  could  sit  down  and  roll  her  cigarettes  in  per- 
fect comfort. 

And  thus  it  happened  that  old  usurer  Aregave 


32        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

came  to  be  visiting  the  summer  resorts  with  a 
sweet  young  wife. 

After  putting  in  a  lifetime  loaning  money  and 
getting  the  dead  mortal  cinch  on  people  who  were 
not  in  a  position  to  protect  themselves  he  imagin- 
ed that  he  was  one  of  the  brightest  individuals  on 
the  face  of  the  earth. 

After  they  had  become  acquainted  at  the  hotel, 
settled  down  on  a  social  footing  and  the  wife  had 
made  a  few  friends,  the  old  man  was  going  to  be 
certain  that  she  did  not  go  off  on  a  tangent,  over- 
step the  bounds  of  propriety  or  have  any  flirta- 
tions on  the  side.  He  considered  himself  particu- 
larly clever  in  molding  the  future  conduct  of  his 
wife. 

There  was  a  mystery  about  this  marriage  any- 
way, which  probably  gave  him  some  anxiety,  and 
which  accounts  to  some  extent  for  his  wife's 
conduct.  This  mystery  she  could  not,  or  dared 
not  explain,  made  life  a  curse.  It  may  be  reveal- 
ed to  the  reader  later  on. 

There  was  very  little  of  a  social  nature  trans- 
piring at  this  resort  that  was  of  much  particular 
interest.  In  fact  the  wives  and  daughters  of  the 
well-to-do  just  fill  up  such  places  in  the  summer 
time  in  order  to  be  going  somewhere,  and  to  find 
a  change  of  climate.  Though  there  were  severed 
ladies  and  gentlemen  who  were  quite  talented, 
and  helped  amuse  the  others  by  delivering  ora- 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        33 

tions,  reciting  extracts  from  plays,  and  rendering 
vocal  and  instrumental  music  in  a  really  entertain- 
ing manner.  By  far  the  best  of  those  was  Ben 
Bynington.  He  was  a  poet  and  a  natural  gifted 
actor,  and  could  render  some  parts  of  Shakespeare 
admirably.  He  would  deliver  short  pieces  from 
Julius  Caesar  better  than  any  actor  I  ever  heard, 
with  the  possible  exception  of  Edwin  Booth.  He 
was  good  at  tragedy  and  touching  scenes;  his 
nature  being  one  of  pathos  and  emotions.  I  have 
heard  him  exclaim  after  Brutus: 

Lucius,  a  bowl  of  wine ! 

O  Cassius,  I  am  sick  of  many  griefs ! 

No  man  bears  sorrow  better — Portia  is  dead. 

when  it  would  send  a  thrill  through  the  frame  of 
every  person  in  the  audience,  though  the  words 
were  uttered  so  low  that  they  were  scarcely  aud- 
ible. The  heart,  and  soul,  and  precious  fire  were 
in  the  man,  though  they  very  often  slept,  and  the 
ignorant  and  unthinking  were  measuring  him  up 
as  a  dunce.  I  wonder  if  that  is  not  a  general 
custom  of  the  ignorant  towards  finer  clay  than 
themselves,  anyway? 


34        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 


CHAPTER     V. 

Since  Mrs.  Aregave's  appearance  among  the 
sojourners  at  the  Crags  she  has  been  admitted 
into  the  inner  circle  of  the  very  elite.  She  is  so 
amiable  and  agreeable,  and  has  the  most  tender, 
emotional  voice  imaginable,  which  is  greatly  ad- 
mired by  all  who  have  had  the  pleasure  of  hearing 
her  sing.  So  when  they  gave  any  social  functions 
or  musicals  she  was  prevailed  upon  to  take  a  part, 
and  was  generally  too  accommodating  to  refuse. 

Another  delightful  songbird  rusticating  there 
at  the  time  this  narrative  opens  was  Miss  Lillian 
Hortense  (whom  we  have  referred  to  before  in 
this  work)  a  very  charming  young  girl  with  a 
sweet,  heavenly  voice;  and  a  carriage  as  noble  as 
the  Venus  de  Medici,  though  the  lines  were  a 
shade  more  delicately  drawn  and  the  contour 
more  refined. 

With  such  talent  as  Mine.  Aregave,  Miss  Hor- 
tense, Mr.  Bynington  and  Mr.  Landers  they  ar- 
ranged to  give  ti  series  of  dramatical  entertain- 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        35 

ments  which  would  surpass  anything  ever  heard 
of  in  that  bend-in-the-canyon,  and  the  likes  of 
which  has  never  been  heard  there  since,  or  prob- 
ably never  will  be  again.  The  pathos  of  their 
utterances  awakened  emotion  in  the  hearts  of  the 
most  frivolous,  and  arroused  the  thoughtless  to 
an  understanding  of  the  depth  of  the  universe. 

One  night  they  put  upon  the  boards  a  little 
performance  (I  forget  now  just  what  it  was  called) 
Mr.  Bynington  and  Mrs.  Aregave  played  the  lead- 
ing rolls;  the  latter  personating  one  of  those 
charming  widows,  whom  any  old  bachelor  would 
go  wild  over,  or  one  who  would  "set  ten  (or  a 
hundred)  poets  raving."  This  started  in  to  be  a 
very  tragic  love  affair,  but  it  changed  around  and 
came  out  so  pleasantly  in  the  end,  and  they  loved 
each  other  so  tenderly  and  naturally  that  the 
young  ladies  in  the  audience  could  hardly  control 
themselves  with  delight,  and  in  their  inner  hearts 
wished  the  affair  was  theirs. 

Then  Miss  Lillian  Hortense  sang — O,  so  sweet 
and  tender!  The  words  fell  from  her  lips  like 
the  trembling — rippling  waters  of  the  mountain 
streams  dancing  over  the  russet  pebbles;  or  the 
music  made  by  the  delicate  wild  flowers  when 
their  soft  petals  were  being  played  upon  by  the 
light  breezes  from  old  Shasta.  It  was  charming 
and  found  its  way  into  the  inner  recesses  of  the 
heart,  and  made  the  listener  acknowledge  that  he 


36        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

had  not  lived  in  vain. 

When  silence  was  restored  after  the  long  ap- 
plause of  this  scene,  Mr.  Landers  personated  an 
Irish  character,  who  had  a  Ittle  too  much  "booze" 
aboard,  and  won  renown. 

Then  Mr.  Bynington  came  out  and  gave  one  of 
his  masterpieces  from  the  immortal  lines  of  the 
dramatist  and  carried  the  audience  away  off  into 
the  heroic  fields  of  ancient  histor}',  even  to  where 
he  exclaimed: 

"Adieu,  and  take  thy  praize  with  thee  to 
heaven !" 

He  could  not  avoid  an  encore,  and  left  the  stage  a 
second  time  while  being  pelted  with  flowers  by 
the  young  ladies,  after  winding  up  with 

*  #  *  "Soft  you  now ! 
The  fair  Ophelia — nymph,  in  thy  orisons 
Be  all  my  sins  remembered !" 

The  night's  entertainment  was  not  allowed  to 
end  without  hearing  some  music  from  the  lips  of 
the  lovely  Mrs.  Aregave.  She  reappeared  and 
sang  a  little  commonplace  song  that  breathed  the 
air  of  the  plains.  It  was  an  account  of  a  lonely 
rider  dashing  for  his  life  from  a  band  of  Apache 
Indians.  In  the  song  one  could  really  hear  him 
beat  the  trembling  plains  beneath  his  charger's 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        37 

feet.  One  could  feel  the  wind  as  it  slid  from  the 
rider  on  his  race  for  life,  and  could  hear  the  shouts 
of  the  redskins  fading  away  on  the  plains  behind. 
All  the  feeling  and  love  in  her  warm,  tender  na- 
ture flowed  from  her  beautiful  red  lips  and  man 
felt  like  worshiping  as  at  a  shrine. 

After  the  music  of  her  voice  died  away  down 
the  recesses  of  the  long  halls  and  melted  out  into 
unending  space,  to  revibrate  perhaps  on  some 
other  shore,  in  some  other  heart,  the  long  applause 
started  in  and  shook  the  very  vacuum  in  the  electric 
lights. 

I  have  forgotten  the  words  of  the  song,  but  this 
was  about  the  meaning  it  conveyed: 


JDSE'S     GALLANT    RIDE. 


A  frontier  gallant,  young  Jose, 

Renown'd  throughout  the  land, 

Rode  forth  upon  the  plains  one  day 
To  claim  his  lady's  hand. 

To  meet  the  object  of  his  heart, 

This  son  of  Mexico, 
Must  cross  a  wilderness  apart, 

Where  thorny  cacti  grow. 

A  desert  broad,  and  loan,  and  bare, 
Where  bad  Apaches  roam, 

And  scurry  for  the  scalp  and  hair 
Of  those  who  stray  from  home. 

He  had  not  half  his  journey  paced 

8 


38        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

When  checking  up  his  rein: 
One  lingering,  longing  look  retraced, 
Ere  spurring  on  again. 

Then  bent  his  eyes  in  fondness  where 
The  firmament  and  plain 

Met  in  the  distant  hazy  air 
Above  his  love's  domain. 

Another  nervous  glance  he  took 
Towards  a  shrubby  shade, 

Where  living  shadows  seem'd  to  look 
From  out  the  silent  glade. 

And  while  he  gazed,  a  tawny  form 
Burst  from  the  shelter  there, 

And,  rising  like  a  coming  storm, 
Waved  high  his  hand  in  air. 

Behind  him  came  a  swarthy  band 

Of  Athapascan  men, 
Who  veil'd  the  air  in  clouds  of  sand 

As  they  swept  down    the  glen. 

With  shout,  and  yell,  and  powder  flash! 

The  savage  tribe  came  on — 
One  shot  returned — Then  with  a  dash 

His  steed  had  turn'd  and  gone. 

Across  the  desert  waste  they  bound; 

The  hunted  in  the  lead; 
While  hard  behind  they  aim  to  wound 

His  trusty,  fleeting  steed. 

But  to  his  horse  he  gave  the  rein, 
And  proudly  on  his  back. 

Glides  swiftly  o'er  the  trembling  plain 
For  miles  before  the  pack. 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        39 

They  speed  across  the  mesa  land; 

O'er  ridge,  ravine  and  park, 
Where  buzzards  soar  above  the  strand 

And  lean  coyotes  bark. 

The  young  Oastilian  keeps  the  lead, 
Though  bullets  thick  and  fast 

Fly  closely  round — his  noble  steed 
Is  sinking  down  at  last. 

"Now,  for  your  life!"  he  urges  on — 

Her  home  is  hard  before — 
The  friendly  goal  is  almost  won, 

And  lover  at  the  door! 

Alas,  the  wounded  horse  sinks  down ! 

When  near  the  esplanade; 
And  (wild  to  gain  his  tribe's  renown) 

The  foremost  renegade. 

Sweeps  madly  on  the  young  Jose 

To  deal  one  deadly  thrust — 
A  volley  bursts  across  the  way — 

The  redskin  sinks  to  dust ! 

His  tribe  departs  the  storm  of  lead 
Belch 'd  from  the  Rancho  wall, 

And  young  Jose  is  safely  led 
Within  the  Casa  hall. 

The  fair  young  maid  had  seen  afar 

The  deadly  onward  strife, 
And  rous'd  the  Rancho's  force  of  war 

To  save  her  lover's  life. 

Mr.  Aregave  would  help  to  make  up  the  audi- 
ence at  some  of  those  entertainments  and  had  a 


40        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

fair  appreciation  of  his  wife's  talents.  Though  he 
would  not  join  in  the  applause  be  could  some- 
times be  heard  to  remark  "That is  capital !  capital! 
It  is  equal  to  twelve  per-cent,  twelve  pe-cent!" 
While  he  would  twist  his  thumbs  in  right  good 
humor. 

Mrs.  Aregave  and  young  Landers  had  become 
very  fast  friends.  He  is  quite  amusing  aud  pop- 
ular as  an  all  around  ridiculous  character.  So  the 
lady  sometimes  sours  the  feelings  of  her  husband 
by  being  on  too  friendly  terms  with  him.  Of 
course  she  does  nothing  but  talk  and  make  fun 
with  the  youth;  but  that  does  not  always  please 
her  lord.  With  Ben  Bynington  she  is  quite  dif- 
ferent. She  always  keeps  a  respectable  distance 
from  him  (when  off  the  stage)  and  the  two  enter 
into  no  familiarities.  They  never  joke  with  each 
other,  though  they  are  both  well  supplied  with 
wit  and  good  humor. 

Mr.  Aregave  is  not  at  all  pleased  with  his  wife 
for  taking  so  kindly  to  tlay  young  harum-scarum 
from  the  Bay;  and  whenever  any  of  the  young 
people  take  a  ride  over  any  of  the  mountain 
trails,  and  she  accompanies  the  party,  without 
him,  he  endeavors  to  have  Bynington  act  as  her 
escort.  So  in  that  way  the  two  are  thrown  much 
together;  and  they  act  more  naturally  than  wheti 
in  the  society  of  others.  In  fact  they  are  the  two 
most  devoted  people  when  out  alone  that  were 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        41 

ever  seen  together,  excepting  of  course  lovers,  and 
that  would  be  out  of  the  question.  She  would 
not  entertain  a  thought  about  being  untrue  to  her 
lord  for  the  world.  She  would  rather  die  first ! 

But  still,  they  could  have  little  innocent  flirta- 
tions. The  touch  of  the  end  of  her  fingers  as  he 
handed  her  a  cup  of  soda  water  from  the  spring; 
the  clasp  of  her  hand  while  assisting  her  to  alight 
from  her  steed;  the  tender  glance  exchanged  as  he 
presents  a  wild  flower,  plucked  for  her  benefit 
from  the  steep  precipice;  and  the  thousand  and 
one  little  sighs  and  glances  between  two  people 
who  think  that  there  is  a  kindred  connection  be- 
tween them  somewhere  in  the  universe — these 
often  send  a  thrill  through  his  frame  and  makes 
him  want  to  clasp  her  in  his  arms  and  shower 
kiss — and  kiss! — on  these  enticing  lips! 

But  he  never  made  any  such  familiar  move  as 
that,  which  would  be  shocking,  and  surely  would 
have  offended  her  feelings;  but,  still,  it  is  hard  to 
tell  whether  she  would  have  had  the  power  to  re- 
sist. 

Mr.  Landers  is  dead  in  love  with  her  too,  when 
he  is  not  flirting  with  some  of  the  other  women, 
and  he  imagines  that  the  only  thing  that  keeps 
his  love  affair  from  being  a  successful  one  is  her 
jealous  old  husband,  who  should  have  been  dead 
long  ago.  An  old  man  has  no  business  with  a 
pretty  wife  anyway — she  should  be  his  daughter. 

9 


42        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

And  so  I  would  like  to  make  her  in  this  story 
if  I  was  writing  fiction,  and  it  grieves  me  sore  to 
think  I  cannot  change  it;  but  as  I  am  jotting  down 
the  lives  of  real  people  I  must  adhere  strictly  to 
the  truth,  whatever  comes  of  it.  Like  Plutarch,  I 
am  writing  Lives.  There  are  pretty  young  ladies 
enough  at  this  summer  resort,  heaven  knows;  some 
of  them  rich  and  beautiful  too,  and  I  might  marry 
two  of  those  charming  creatures  to  these  young 
men,  for  certainly  they  ought  to  be  married  (a 
person  is  a  fool  who  lives  in  single  blessedness); 
but  I  cannot  marry  them  as  they  did  not  take  it  in 
their  heads  to  do  that  for  themselves. 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        43 


CHAPTER     VI. 

Some  of  the  sojourners  at  the  tavern  that  sum- 
mer were  the  most  interesting  people  whoever 
came  together  at  a  summer  resort  on  the  Pacific 
Coast,  as  the  reader  should  imagine  by  this  time. 

Of  course  there  was  a  goodly  number  of  the  bud- 
ding debutantes,  who  considered  that  the  world 
was  made  for  them  alone,  and  there  was  the  self- 
important  3'oung  swell  with  his  cigarette-face  and 
pants  turned  up  at  the  heels.  But  the  majority 
of  them  were  very  good  people  and  some  of  the 
young  ladies  were  the  fairest  on  the  continent. 

There  were  the  two  Misses  Ashland,  daughters 
of  one  of  San  Francisco's  richest  families,  and  the 
ever  charming  Miss  Hortense,  all  as  wealthy  and 
fair  as  the  sun  ever  shone  upon.  And  Lans 
Hallmore,  a  young  man  of  considerable  promise. 
They,  and  our  three  friends,  Bynington,  Landers 
and  Mrs.  Aregave,  had  many  a  delightful  drive, 
ride  and  stroll  over  the  country  together  that  sum- 
mer. They  would  ride  or  prowl  at  will  over  the 


44        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

dusty  roads  or  in  the  deep  forests;  and  for  reck- 
less, slovenly  traveling  they  could  discount,  at 
times,  the  woodsman,  who  inhabits  the  region  at 
the  present  day,  or  the  squawman  of  the  vanishing 
past. 

I  have  seen  them  driving  over  the  mountains, 
the  feminine  contingent  reckless  of  the  display 
of  their  pretty  limbs  and  bewitching  charms,  and 
the  gallants  so  attentive  to  assist  them  to  and 
from  their  steeds.  And  then  to  sit  down  in  the 
shade  of  a  big  tree,  tell  stories,  discuss  the  latest 
novel  and  gossip  on  the  affairs  of  the  day.  Or 
seated  by  the  river,  watching  the  gentle  current 
ripple,  ripple  over  the  pebbles,  while  they  gazed 
contentedly  upon  the  water  and  dreamed  of  other 
scenes  and  climes. 

They  would  go  in  bathing  altogether,  in  a  deep 
pool  in  the  cold  water  of  the  Sacramento  river. 
Some  of  the  young  ladies  in  bathing  suits  which 
hardly  contained  material  enough  to  make  a  fly- 
ing-jib for  a  wheelbarrow,  or  a  hood  for  the  great 
American  eagle,  but  their  male  companions  would 
admire  their  angelic  forms  without  a  blush;  while 
Castle  Crags  and  Mount  Shasta  would  look  down 
benignly  and  nod  their  approval. 

O,  these  were  delightful  days! — but  how  brief. 

How  brief  is  happiness,  anyway !  Are  there  any 
of  us  who  have  pleasure  for  any  length  of  time '? 

Mrs.    Aregave   never   engaged    in  any  of  those 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        45 

swimming  tornaments.  She  would  rather  sit  and 
dream  by  the  river  banks.  Or  go  with  Bynington 
for  a  walk  over  the  gravel  trail  to  the  soda 
spring. 

How  exquisitely  nice  it  was  sitting  down  in  the 
cool  shade  by  the  babbling  spring,  watching  the 
natural  soda  water  gurgling  up  from  the  internal 
regions  of  the  earth,  and  discussing  the  various 
characters  in  current  fiction  with  her.  She  had  a 
deep  insight  into  human  nature,  and  could  take  a 
character  from  a  novel  and  give  a  wonderfully 
accurate  description  of  its  strength  and  weakness 
— as  to  what  the  author's  intentions  were  in  pro- 
ducing the  character,  and  how  far  he  had  succeed- 
ed in  carrying  out  his  designs.  She  was  a  very 
vivacious  interesting  talker  when  she  was  warmed 
up  to  her  subject,  took  an  interest  in  it  and 
was  not  dreaming.  Then  she  made  a  picture  so 
attractive  that  I  do  not  believe  there  is  a  man 
living  who  could  escape  falling  in  love  with  her. 
As  she  sit  on  the  ground  with  her  form  a  little  too 
much  revealed,  her  dress  creeping  up  above  her 
shapely  ankles — not  vulgar — or  not  doing  it  pur- 
posely to  show  them,  like  some  vicious  married 
women  whom  I  have  known  (highly  respectable 
ladies  too)  though  they  will  make  some  singular 
breaks  towards  certain  of  their  bachelor  friends. 
But  this  child  of  Nature  was  just  a  simple,  awk- 
ward, schoolgirl  in  that  line,  and  never  tried  to 
10 


46        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

attract  a  man  in  her  life — they  come  to  her  with- 
out any  efforts  on  her  part.  She  was  never  vul- 
gar. What  would  have  been  considered  vulgarity 
in  others,  in  her  was  sublime. 

That  beautiful  brown  hair  could  not  be  kept  up 
either,  or  made  to  conform  to  the  rules  of  fashion; 
but  must  wander  off  on  the  breath  of  ever}r  little 
zephyr  that  chose  to  play  with  its  locks,  and  the 
more  it  wandered  and  tossed  around  the  prettier 
she  looked. 

It  was  at  some  of  these  exclusive  outings  where 
Bynington  and  she  became  very  fast  friends.  In- 
deed they  were  growing  too  friendly  altogether 
for  people  under  thir  condition  and  circumstances. 
She  lying  on  the  grass  picking  the  delicate  little 
cats-ears,  pink  sweet-williams,  blue  lilacs  and 
other  sweet-scented  flowers  of  the  wild-woods,  and 
he  seated  at  her  feet  biting  pine-needles,  gazing 
in  her  eyes  and  talking  on  themes  which  generally 
lead  to  love  was  not  exactly  a  proper  avocation 
for  the  bride  of  another  man.  But  then  if  the 
husband  had  no  objection  I  don't  see  as  we  have 
any  right  to  interfere.  Mr.  Aregave  was  jealous 
enough,  but  he  thought  he  was  keeping  her  away 
from  Mr.  Landers  and  consequently  it  was  all 
right. 

I  said  she  understood  books.  That  in  itself  is 
something  uncommon,  especially  in  a  girl  of  her 
years  and  experience,  but  whether  it  is  a  virtue 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        47 

or  a  vice  I  am  not  prepared  to  say. 

On  one  particular  occasion  they  were  so  seated 
near  the  soda  spring  discussing  the  merits  of  the 
latest  literary  fad  (I  forget  just  what  book  it  was) 
and  they  finally  drifted  into  deeper  literature. 

"What  do  you  think  of  Hamlet?"  said  she 

Any  fool  might  ask  this  question,  but  Nina  was 
seeking  knowledge,  and  knew  she  was  addressing 
a  man  capable  of  imparting  it. 

"Hamlet  is  a  deep  work,  worthy  more  study 
than  any  other  literary  production  in  the  language," 
he  replied.  "Some  of  the  deepest  parts  of  the  plot 
are  really  not  told  in  the  play." 

"It  seems  unnecessary  for  Hamlet  to  start  for 
England  and  then  return  without  accomplishing 
any  purpose,"  she  continued,  leading  him  out. 

"Carlyle  says  about  the  same  thing.  And  I  am 
surprised  that  as  deep  a  philosopher  as  Carlyle 
could  not  see  that  the  whole  plot  of  the  play 
hinged  on  that  trip  to  England.  And  right  there 
is  where  the  play  is  so  natural — unexpected 
events  arose  which  overturned  the  plans  of  both 
Hamlet  and  his  villainous  uncle." 

"Yes,  that  is  natural.  There  is  always  things 
happening  in  real  life  to  overthrow  our  plans !" 
and  she  sighed  deeply. 

"Man  is  always  being  swayed  by  the  force  of 
the  Fates,"  he  continued,  "and  it  is  a  strong  man 
indeed  who  has  will  power  enough  to  make  his 


^»»«] 


48        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

own  fate." 

"I  wish  I  could  make  mine,"  she  broke  in. 

"Let  me  be  vour  fate,"  he  answered,  very  much 
in  earnest. 

"No!     Go  on  with  the  fate  of  Hamlet." 

"When  Hamlet  started  for  England  he  knew 
his  uncle,  the  king,  was  guilty  of  murder,  but  he 
had  no  proof  against  him  save  the  words  of  a 
ghost,  and  you  know  a  ghost  is  a  poor  witness  to 
bring  into  any  court  to  prove  a  case,  even  that  of 
Denmark.  And  this  ghost,  anyway,  would  not 
show  up  in  the  sunshine,  so  it  would  be  utterly 
impossible  to  take  his  deposition.  Especially 
would  he  disappear  at  the  thoughts  of  going  be- 
fore a  notary.  Now  Hamlet  embarked  for  England 
like  an  honest  young  man,  with  the  avowed  in- 
tention of  paying  his  respects  to  the  king  of  that 
country,  and  was  accompanied  by  two  rogues. 
Those  two  rogues  were  hirelings  of  the  king, 
sent  along  to  do  him  up.  Hamlet  being  of  a  sus- 
picious turn  of  mind,  as  anyone  should  be  who 
had  been  holding  nightly  seances  with  immaterial 
spirits,  arose  in  the  night  while  his  companions 
slept  and  went  through  their  pockets.  This  thing 
is  only  told  by  Hamlet  to  Horatio  afterwards  in  a 
hall  in  the  castle,  and  I  will  give  his  exact  words: 

"  'Up  from  my  cabin, 

My  sea-gown  scarf 'd  about  me,  in  the  dark 
Groped  I  to  find  out  them:  had  my  desire; 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        49 

Finger'd  their  pockets;  and,  in  fine,  withdrew 
To  mine  own  room  again:  making  so  bold, 
My  fears  forgetting  manners,  to  unseal 
Their  grand  commission;  where  I  found,Horatio, 
A  royal  knavery;  an  exact  command, — 
Larded  with  many  several  sorts  of  reasons, 
Importing  Denmark's  health  and  England's  too, 
With,  ho !  such  bugs  and  goblins  in  my  life, — 
That,  on  the  supervise,  no  leisure  bated, 
No,  not  to  stay  the  grinding  of  the  axe, 
My  head  should  be  struck  off.' 

"Now,  there  is  royal  knavery,  indeed.  Hamlet 
left  the  ship  at  the  first  opportunity  and  skipped 
back  to  Denmark  with  the  royal  commission  in  his 
pocket,  signed  with  the  king's  own  hand." 

"And  the  two  knaves  went  on  to  England." 

"Yes,  after  Hamlet — 'I  sat  me  down;  devised  a 
new  commission;  wrote  it  fair' — That  the  bearers 
be  put  to  sudden  death.  'Not  shriving-time  al- 
lowed.'" 

"So      Guildenstern     and      Rosencrantz      went 

to  't  ?'  " 

"'They  are  not  near  my  conscience;  their  defeat 
Does  by  their  own  insinuation  grow: 
'Tis  dangerous  when  the  baser  nature  comes 
Between  the  pass  and  fell  incensed  points 
Of  mighty  opposites  !' ' 

"Hamlet   and  the  king  were  two  strong  char- 
acters, weren't  they,  Mr.  Bynington  ?" 
11 


50        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

"It  would  have  been  dangerous  for  a  pretty 
young  woman  like  you  to  fool  with  either  of  those 
old  Dutchmen,  I  tell  you.  They  were  not  inno- 
cent old  book-worms  like  I." 

"Then  Hamlet  returned." 

"Yes,  Nina — I  mean  Mrs. — ahem  ! — Now  he  had 
evidence  enough  to  have  the  king's  head  cut  off, 
or  to  arouse  a  mob  of  Danes  to  hang  him  to  a 
tree.  He  also  intended,  very  likely,  when  he 
came  back  to  marry  the  fair  Ophelia,  kill  off  the 
old  king  and  the  two  of  them  would  reign  happily 
over  the  Danes  ever  afterwards." 

"Wouldn't  that  be  nice!" 

"It  would  be — sweet — But,  alas,  for  well  laid 
plans.  The  first  thing  he  ran  across  was  two 
clowns  in  the  graveyard,  digging  a  grave  for 
Ophelia;  the  next  he  was  invited  to  a  duel,  and 
his  plans,  as  well  as  those  of  the  monarch,  ended 
in  their  deaths." 

"I  see,  their  plans  miscarried." 

"Yes.  They  all  had  a  mis — I  mean  they 
missed  their  chances  of  further  existence  right 
there ! 

"Envenomed  rapiers,  poisoned  drinks  and 
Hamlet's  valor  floored  all  of  them." 

"Hamlet  didn't  seem  to  have  much  love  for 
Ophelia,"  she  said  after  a  pause,  looking  on  him 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        51 

with  those  enchanting  eyes. 

"He  never  met  you,"  he  answered,  trying  to  get 
hold  of  her  hand,  which  had  now  turned  to  pluck 
some  flowers. 

"Don't! — it  isn't  right — there's  some  one 
coming." 

He  went  to  the  spring  to  get  her  a  drink  of 
water,  as  footsteps  sounded  on  the  walk. 


52        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 


CHAPTER     VII. 

One  fine  morning  a  merr}'  party  of  the  lazy 
guests  might  have  been  seen  sauntering  across 
the  lawn  bound  on  a  fishing  expedition  down  the 
Sacramento  They  tripped  along  in  that  leisurely 
careless  gait  that  marks  the  pace  of  the  well  bred 
and  well  fed. 

There  were  the  two  Misses  Ashland,  Miss 
Hortense,  Mrs.  Aregave,  Mr.  Byningtun,  Mr. 
Landers  and  one  or  two  others.  They  made  their 
way  towards  the  rushing  waters  as  eagerly  as 
King  Charles  of  Sweden  and  his  scattered 
warriors  made  for  the  Borysthenes,  such  was 
their  welcome  for  a  river. 

They  threw  their  fancy  poles  over  the  blue 
surface  and  commenced  to  whip  the  troubled 
waters  up  and  down  stream,  over  rock,  bush  and 
bramble.  Some  of  them  might  keep  at  it  until 
doom's  day  and  never  get  a  bite.  It  is  certain 
that  the  Fish  Commissioners  need  have  no  ap- 
prehension for  the  extinction  of  the  trout  species 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        53 

because     of    the    angling    skill  of  our     friends. 

The  party  after  dallying  a  while  with  the 
stream  wandered  around  and  soon  became  scatter- 
ed along  the  shady  bank. 

Mrs.  Aregave  and  Bynington  found  themselves 
sauntering  leisurely,  down  stream,  among  the 
green  ferns,  broad  lilies  and  umbrella  plants. 
They  had  lost  sight  of  their  companions  and  were 
rather  lost  to  their  surroundings.  The  river  was 
skirted  on  their  side  by  some  beautiful  old  pine 
trees  that  made  a  perfect  shade,  and  a  thick 
growth  of  underbrush  had  grown  up  between 
eight  and  ten  feet  high  which  made  the  place  a 
perfect  thicket  in  which  to  get  lost.  It  was  one 
of  ,the  prettiest  little  paradises  in  the  world  into 
which  man  and  woman  ever  wandered.  The 
ground  was  covered  with  green  foliage  as  soft  as 
Brussels  carpet,  strewn  with  a  luxurous 
growth  of  wild  flowers  of  every  hue.  The  moist 
plants  of  the  river  hung  their  heads  up  over  the 
bank  in  great  profusion  to  court  the  flowers  of 
the  upland.  The  day  outside  was  quite  hot  and 
sultry,  but  within  this  eden  bower  it  was  cool  and 
invigorating,  and  the  air  was  scented  with  the 
sweet  perfume  of  the  flowers. 

They  stood  between  two  pine  trees  which  were 
woven  together  overhead  by  a  network  of  vines, 
the  ground  at  their  feet  looked  like  a  huge  lounge 
constructed  in  the  forest  for  some  tired  travelers 

12 


54        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

to  recline  upon.  They  both,  touched  with  similar 
instinct,  sat  clown,  and  they  sank  nearly  a  foot  in 
the  wild  grass  and  flowers.  It  was  pretty  to  lay 
one's  head  on  the  ground  and  watch  the  blossoms 
waving  over  his  face.  He  could  imagine  them  to 
be  big  trees  swaying  over  a  plain,  or  change  the 
spears  of  grass  into  a  regiment  of  soldiers,  or 
most  anything  his  fancy  pleased. 

They  commenced  to  talk  of  the  country  and  the 
fish  in  the  river,  and  the  birds  in  the  trees,  but 
they  could  not  follow  the  thread  of  the  story,  be- 
cause they  were  in  someway  enticed  to  look  at 
each  other. 

Who  could  help  looking  at  the  mortal  (and  im- 
mortal) form  of  Mrs.  Aregave,  leaning  back  in  a 
nest  of  wild  flowers,  her  pretty  head  pillowed 
upon  the  mossy  roots  of  a  vine-clad  tree,  her  form 
stretched  out  as  usual  and  partly  visible  beneath 
her  light  clothing.  The  rise  and  fall  of  her 
breast  was  the  only  movement  discernible,  other- 
wise it  might  be  the  production  of  some  designer 
in  marble. 

From  where  they  lay  they  had  a  fine  glimpse  of 
the  placid  river,  and  their  gaze  were  attracted  to 
it,  as  it  stretched  away  in  a  peaceful,  unriffled 
sheet,  with  the  green  foliage  dripping  in  its  edges 
and  shutting  out  all  other  ^views.  The  stream 
made  a  turn  above,  so  there  was  nothing  to  be 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        55 

seen  but  the  green  leaves  and  the  silver-colored 
surface  of  the  water. 

"What  is  there  in  a  smooth,  glassy  sheet  of 
water  where  the  banks  are  hidden  by  green 
leaves,  and  a  stillness  resting  on  the  surface, 
which  attracts  the  senses,  or  the  understanding, 
as  it  were,  as  nothing  else  does?"  Said  Mr. 
Bynington,  putting  the  question  to  his  compan- 
ion. "I  used  to  think,  when  a  boy,  that  it  was 
just  a  fancy  of  mine,  but  after  seeing  so  many 
painters  put  the  same  on  canvas — with  the  same 
thoughts — I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it 
impresses  everybody  alike." 

"I  know  it  always  catches  my  fancy,"  she  re- 
plied. "I  love  to  sit  by  it  and  dream." 

"There  is  something  about  that  look — that 
first  glimpse  of  the  quiet,  calm  surface — 
which  impresses  one  with  a  love  of  nature  pecu- 
liar to  itself." 

"And  one  invariably  expects  to  see  in  the  pic- 
ture two  lovers  drifting  in  a  boat,  with  garments 
of  gossamer  and  covered  with  wreathes  of 
flowers." 

"Or  sitting  on  the*-  banks,  with  the  water  lav- 
ing their  feet."  he  said. 

"See  it  now?"  she  slid,  pointing  a  delicate  fin- 
ger. "Isn't  it  tranquil?  Isn't  it  soul-filling? 
If  we  could  only  sail  upon  its  surface?" 

He  looked  on  the  water  and  he  looked    in   her 


56        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

soulful  eyes.  She  seemed  to  contain  the  whole 
heavenly  image  of  the  scene  in  her  person. 

"If  we  could  only  go  sailing  together  for  ever 
and  ever?"  he  said,  and  reached  his  arm  around 
her  waist.  They  were  seated  on  a  bed  of  flowers, 
and  she  did  not  try  to  move  away. 

He  took  her  hand  in  the  one  he  had  disengaged 
and  held  it  palm  to  palm,  with  their  fingers  inter- 
locked, they  sit  there  gazing  in  each  other's  eyes. 
They  had  no  tongue  to  talk,  or  no  inclination  to 
use  it  anyway.  Her  pretty  red  lips  were  chang- 
ing color  with  the  natural  fire  of  excitement — 
those  lips  were  entirely  irresistable — he  was  los- 
ing his  head  and  heart — they  were  both  fast  los- 
ing their  heads,  hearts  and  senses. 

They  leaned  back  on  the  green  sward,  crushing 
the  blood-red  snow-flowers  and  purple  lupins  be- 
neath their  weight — their  hearts  beating  together, 
their  lips  coming  closer  and  closer.  His  extended 
lips  had  already  touched  the  pouting  curves  of 
her  burning  skin 

When  a  sharp  crack  is  heard  a  few  feet  away, 
and  they  darted  apart  before  the  anxious  lips  had 
a  chance  to  have  one  clinging  press. 

Some  one  had  jumped  off  a  log  and  broken  a 
dead  limb. 

They  just  had  time  to  sit  up  a  few  feet  apart 
when  Miss  Hortense  appeared  on  the  scene.  She 
noticed  nothing;  or  at  least  pretended  not  to  no- 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        57 

tice.     But  they  were  trembling  like  the  leaves   of 
the  aspiu. 

In  a  few  minutes,  following  her,  came  Mr.  Are- 
gave  looking  for  his  better  half,  and  he  came  so 
noiselessly  that  he  was  right  on  top  of  them  be- 
fore being  noticed.  His  wife  was  then  picking  a 
few  wild  flowers,  and  probably  thinking  of  what 
might  have  been  if  Miss  Hortense  had  not  pre- 
ceded her  lord. 

Bynington  was  afraid  to  think.  There  are  times 
in  the  lives  of  men  when  it  is  better  not  to 
think  at  all 

"A  capital  place  this  is  to  rest,"  said  Mr.  Are* 
gave,  rubbing  his  thumbs.  "Capital  ?  Ha !  ha ! 
ha !  worth  twelve  per-cent — twelve  percent!"  And 
he  took  his  wife's  arm  in  his  and  they  walked  off 
towards  the  tavern. 

Bynington  was  considerably  unnerved  by  the 
shock — the  numerous  things  that  had  transpired 
in  such  a  short  space  of  time  would  unnerve  any- 
body. 

But  looking  up  and  seeing  the  sweet,  mild  face 
of  Lillian  Hortense  bent  on  his  he  felt  greatly 
soothed  and  calmed.  He  had  forgotten  for  several 
weeks  that  her  countenance  was  a  soothing  balm 
for  anything.  He  wanted  her  to  sit  down  on  the 
green  grass  where  the  other  had  been,  but  she 

13 


58        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

hastily  declined,  and  seemed  to  be  in  a  humor  to 
move  on. 

So  they  quit  the  place  and  threaded  their  way 
along  the  river  bank  like  a  little  sister  and  brother 
returning  home  from  school. 

After  traveling  a  little  way  they  came  to 
another  bunch  of  trees  overhanging  the  river, 
similar  to  the  bower  they  had  left.  There  were  a 
few  sturdy  oaks,  making  a  genuine  silven  grove 
and  woven  together  by  vines  of  the  wild  grape 
as  though  bound  by  a  band  of  love.  The  grape 
leaves  and  flowery  creepers  of  tenderer  plants 
had  partitioned  them  off  from  the  river,  and  in 
fact  had  them  pretty  near  surrounded.  The  vines 
were  woven  among  the  branches  of  the  trees  over- 
head and  formed  a  protection  from  the  rays  of 
the  sun,  and  shut  off  the  view  of  the  surrounding 
country.  When  they  found  their  way  barred  by 
the  profuse  foliage  they  stopped  and  contem- 
plated the  situation.  They  found  nothing  there 
so  interesting  as  a  study  of  each  other,  and  he 
considered  her  his  guardian  angel.  He  was  never 
so  much  attracted  by  her  mild  beauty  as  now 
They  were  standing  side  by  side  and  her  modest 
eyes  were  cast  down.  Just  one  little  red  spot 
burning  on  her  cheek,  all  else  was  tranquil;  a 
beautiful,  good  young  girl  and  a  picture  of 
modern  virtue.  She  was  of  a  milder  nature  than 
Nina  Aregave,  whom  he  had  just  quit,  and  her 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        59 

love  did  not  thrill  one  the  same,  it  rather  soothed 
than  blinded  one  with  passion.  Now  being  out 
of  the  influence  of  the  other  he  readily  trans- 
ferred his  affections  to  her. 

It  may  sound  peculiar  to  hear  of  him  making 
love  to  one  girl  just  after  escaping  from  the  em- 
braces of  another,  but  such  was  Mr.  Bynington 
doing  at  this  time.  In  fact,  he  had  met  those 
two  women  for  the  first  time  on  the  same  morn- 
ing and  fell  desperately  in  love  with  them  both. 

It  was  the  love  which  Lillian  Hortense  had 
awakened  which  helped  to  make  him  yield  so 
readily  to  the  charms  of  the  enchantress,  Nina, 
when  she  alighted  from  the  train  on  that  memor- 
able morning,  as  described  in  our  first  chapter. 
His  feelings  had  been  sensitively  opened  to  love 
and  he  was  just  ready  to  receive  a  shock.  Now 
he  was  returning  to  his  first  love  after  a  heavy 
shock. 

This  thing  of  falling  iu  love  with  two  beautiful 
women  in  one  day  may  seem  to  be  a  little  out  of 
the  common  place,  but  it  is  true.  He  had  a  genu- 
ine love  for  both.  No  flitting  episode  to  be 
forgotten  when  the  passion  died  out,  but  one  that 
found  lodgment  deep  d  >wn  in  the  heart  and 
lasted  as  long  as  life. 

There  are  probably  people  who  may  doubt  this 
statement,  but  they  must  remember  that  we  are 


60        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

not  all  constituted  alike,  and  the  writer  knows 
whereof  he  speaks. 

Anyway  the  love  for  Mrs.  Aregave  was  a  hope- 
less one,  or  a  foolish  one  at  least.  It  could  only 
pass  away  an  idle  hour  at  best.  But  there  is  no 
knowing  what  hopes  he  had  built  up  on  gaining 
the  affection  of  Miss  Hortense. 

They  were  now  alone  in  a  cosy  bower  by  the 
river  side.  The  first  time  they  were  thrown  to- 
gether in  that  way.  So  their  talk  soon  led  to  love. 
What  more  appropriate  subject  could  they  discuss 
on  such  a  scene  and  at  such  a  time?  She  occas- 
ionally glanced  up  in  his  face  with  those  soft  mild 
eyes. 

He  commenced  to  tell  her  how  he  had  fell  in 
love  with  her  the  moment  he  saw  her;  and  how, 
if  she  would  be  his  wife,  he  would  have  no  object 
in  life  but  to  make  the  world  a  paradise  for  her — 
the  world  wherein  he  lived  would  be  for  her  alone. 

He  was  about  to  tell  her  how  his  thoughts  had 
been  averted  from  her  by  the  dark  enchantress  of 
the  plains,  but  all  he  really  wanted  in  this  world 
was  her  mild,  soothing  love;  her  life  mingled 
with  his. 

I  say  he  commenced  to  pour  out  his  love,  but, 
like  the  impulsive  creature  that  he  was,  he  had 
never  reached  the  point  where  he  was  to  ask  her 
to  become  his  wife.  Being  lately  so  worked  up 
by  passion,  he  grabbed  her  in  his  arms,  drew  her 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        61 

rapturously  to  his  breast  and  showered  kiss  after 
kiss  on  her  lips. 

That  power  of  resistance,  so  commendable  in 
preachers  and  virgins,  never  was  his  fort;  and 
the  passion  so  lately  aroused  and  suffered  to  wear 
itself  out,  was  now  raging  stronger  than  ever. 
His  soul  was  on  fire,  and  nothing  outside  of  satis- 
faction would  quench  it. 

I  am  sorry  to  note  such  traits  in  my  hero, 
•especially  the  lack  of  resistance  and  the  efforts  to 
break  down  resistance  in  others,  but  I  cannot  help 
it.  I  started  in  to  write  this  man's  history  and  I 
must  take  it  as  it  comes,  if  it  kills  me.  I  said  I 
was  writing  Lives,  like  my  friend,  Plutarch,  and 
intended,  if  these  lives  came  out  all  right,  to  tackle 
the  "Lives  of  the  Saints."  But  here  I  am  with  a 
very  aggressive  life  on  my  hands.  If  he  keeps  on 
getting  worse  I  will  have  to  shirk  all  responsi- 
bility for  bis  actions. 

Anyway,  he  was  now  hardly  responsible  for  his 
actions  himself,  and  was  trying  to  force  her  into 
the  same  happy  (or  silly)  condition. 

But  she  managed  to  free  herself;  her  feelings 
(if  nothing  else)  were  outraged;  and  when  she 
met  the  terrible  fire  in  his  eyes  she  was  half 
frightened  to  death.  She  tore  herself  from  his 

14 


62        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

grasp  and  jumped  back,  gave  one  bound  and 

Heavens ! 

They  had  been  standing  right  at  the  edge  of  a 
cliff,  overlooking  a  deep  pool  in  the  river — the 
thick  vines  hindered  her  from  seeing  where  she 
was  going — only  one  piercing  scream  came  from 
her  lips  as  she  went  down  through  space. 

He  was  too  terrified  to  do  anything  but  stand 
panting  on  the  bank  and  gazing  in  the  water. 

She  had  carried  the  broken  vines  with  her  and 
a  few  green  leaves  and  pink  flowers  were  floating 
peacefully  on  the  surface — she  had  disappeared. 

He  looked  on  in  silence,  and  noticed  all  the  de- 
tails of  how  she  went  down  to  the  deep.  The 
cliff  projected  out  and  she  never  touched  a  thing 
till  she  struck  the  water. 

"Are  there  some  Fatality  above  me,"  he  cried, 
"that  interferes  with  all  my  joys  and  happi- 
ness?" And  his  voice  sounded  like  the  heart- 
rending wail  of  some  wounded-unto-death  wild 
beast.  "Well,  I  will  fight  that  Fate  to  the  bitter 
end!"  And  he  plunged  into  the  river — bounded 
around  in  the  water — and  finally  saw  her  long 
hair  rise  to  the  surface.  He  grabbed  hold  of  it 
and  struggled  to  the  shore  with  his  drowned 
load. 

Was  she  drewned? 

"Poor,  dear,  sweet  girl,"  he  muttered. 

He    felt     her     heart,     which     seemed    to    be 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        63 

forever  stilled.  Her  beautiful  hair  lay  on  her 
white,  marble  breast,  and  looked  as  though  it  had 
been  combed  out  by  the  hands  of  angels;  and  the 
drops  of  water  sparkled  among  the  ringlets  like 
diamonds  in  a  bridal  veil. 

He  noticed  all  this  in  a  few  seconds,  but  it 
seemed  to  be  several  years. 

He  tried  every  application  he  had  ever  heard  of 
to  resuscitate  her,  but  all  seemed  in  vain. 

He  threw  himself  on  the  ground  and  groaned 
aloud.  His  feelings  were  something  dreadful — 
a  murderer — a  prisoner — an  outcast!  He  was 
afraid  to  think  what  he  was.  Then  he  gathered 
her  up  in  his  arms  and  pressed  his  lips  to  hers 
again  and  again.  He  tried  to  kiss  new  life  in  her, 
and  someway  succeeded,  for  the  fleeting  breath 
returned  and  her  bosona  rose  and  fell  once  more. 

She  had  been  stunned  by  the  fall  on  the  water 
but  had  very  cleverly  clenched  her  teeth  and 
swollowed  very  little  of  it.  So  when  she  came  to 
from  the  shock,  or  faint,  she  was  really  very  little 
injured,  only  had  received  a  thorough  wetting  and 
a  severe  shaking  up. 

When  she  was  able  to  sit  up,  and  say  she  waa 
not  hurt  a  particle,  as  she  did,  he  went  almost 
wild  with  delight.  He  tried  to  embrace  her 
again,  and  talked  all  sorts  of  silly  nonsense — 


64        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

blamed  himself — but  she  wanted  no  consolation, 
and  seemed  to  be  very  grave  and  serious. 

So  they  started  for  home  without  any  more  cere- 
mony, and  as  they  threaded  their  way  through  the 
woods,  he  could  not  help  thinking,  "why  did  she 
tear  herself  away  ?"  That  tearing  away  was  fatal 
to  them  both.  He  felt  it  just  as  certain  as  life, 
and  by  the  looks  of  her  face,  she  must  have  felt  it 
to. 

Had  she  not  torn  herself  away  so  abruptly  they 
would,  in  all  probability,  have  been  bound  to- 
gether for  life.  He  was  not  the  kind  of  a  man  to 
impose  on  a  woman's  good  nature.  He  had  never 
violated  the  confidence  of  either  man  or  woman, 
and  considered  those  who  do  the  most  dispicable 
on  earth.  But  this  was  to  be  the  termination 
of  their  day's  "outing." 

A  little  act  is  often  momentous,  and  some  times 
extends  into  eternity. 

As  they  plodded  along  on  their  homeward 
journey  they  came  to  a  little  ravine.  As  they 
went  down  the  slope  they  noticed  an  object  stick- 
ing up  in  the  underbrush  ahead  of  them  which 
looked  like  an  elbow.  The  chaparral  was  waving 
her  green  leaves  over  it,  and  the  blades  of  grass 
and  flowers  were  dancing  merrily  around.  The 
foliage  was  being  pressed  with  something  imbued 
with  animal  life. 

"Why,  that  cannot  be  the  branches  of   a  tree?" 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        65 

said  Mr.  Bynington,  drawing  hit  companion's  at- 
tention to  it. 

"No,"  said  she,  "it  is  alive."  And  they  walked 
on  down  to  the  place. 

When  they  reached  the  spot  they  found  Mr. 
Landers  chatting  with  a  young  lady,  who  was 
gathering  flowers  in  the  shrubbery  near  by.  They 
did  not  see  her  face,  it  was  hidden  by  the  leaves. 
The  two  seemed  to  be  enjoying  themselves,  so  Mr. 
Bynington  and  companion  did  not  disturb  them, 
but  turned  away  and  climbed  the  hill  on  the  other 
side. 

"I  will  wager  that  Mr.  Landers'  sweetheart 
would  not  jump  in  the  river,"  said  Mr.  Bynington, 
when  they  had  reached  a  safe  distance. 

"It  would  be  better  to  jump  in  the  river  than 
be  ashore  with  your  kind,"  answered  his  com- 
panion. 

"Perhaps  Mr.  Lander*  is  learning  to  play  on 
leaves  of  grass,"  he  continued,  "or  the  rnysteriea 
of  the  Houri  dance." 

But  the  fair  Lillian  made  no  reply,  so  he  re- 
marked: "This  has  been  an  eventful  day,  and 
will  be  rernembere-l  by  all  of  us." 

Then  they  trudged  along  the  rest  of  the  way  in 
silence.  She  did  n  >fc  lo  >k  much  the  worse  for  the 
plunge  in  the  river;  only  her  wet  garments  clung 
to  her  limbs  and  showed  up  to  more  advantage 
lovely,  graceful  form. 
if 


66        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

When  they  reached  the  hotel  she  declared  she 
would  never  speak  to  him  again,  and  bolted  in  a 
side  door  and  out  of  sight. 


As  Bynington  lay  tossing  feverishly  around  on 
his  bed  that  night  one  might  think  ho  was  re- 
penting his  past  sins  and  seeking  absolution  for 
the  future,  but  he  was  not.  He  was  suffering  the 
pangs  of  love  unsatisfied,  and  was  complaining 
bitterly  because  fate  or  circumstances,  or  whatever 
you  might  call  it,  was  conspiring  against  him,  and 
why  the  women  he  adored  were  always  slipping 
from  his  grasp  just  as  he  extended  his  arms  to 
them — the  women  he  would  do  so  much  for. 

"Because  I  dearly  love  thee  so, 

Why  wilt  thou  still  refuse  me,  love? 

On  thee  I'd  all  the  world  bestow 

If  thou  wouldst  let  me  hug  thee,  love." 

He  murmured  in  his  delirium. 

As  he  lay  there  half  asleep  and  half  conscious, 
his  mother  appeared  to  him  in  a  vision,  and  in 
place  of  upbraiding  him  for  trying  to  make  un- 
hallowed love  with  members  of  her  sex  (as  he  had 
reasons  to  expect  if  present  in  the  flesh)  she  sym- 
pathized with  him  and  tried  to  sooth  his  aching 
heart.  She  blamed  the  unfeeling  women  who 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        67 

tormented  her  sorrowing  boy,  and  in  the  cool 
touch  of  her  aerial  presence  he  fell  asleep. 

He  thought  over  that  many  times  afterward, 
why  his  mother,  who  had  lived  a  good,  innocent, 
upright  life,  should  come  to  him  at  such  a  time, 
and  chide  those  who  he  imagined  had  done  him 
wrong.  She  seemed  to  demonstrate  to  him  that 
man  was  the  weaker  sex  and  woman  his  tormentor. 
Being  as  this  is  a  bit  of  unexplainable  philosophy 
to  me,  I  give  it  to  the  reader  for  what  it  is  worth; 
not  caring  to  prejudice  hi«,  or  her,  mind  on  the 
subject  one  way  or  the  other. 

A  few  days  after  the  above  occurrences  Miss 
Hortense  departed  for  home  in  San  Francisco,  and 
those  who  saw  her  go  aboard  the  train  noticed 
that  there  was  something  the  matter  with  her  dis- 
position, her  health,  or  both. 

What  had  happened?     They  never  knew. 


68        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 


CHAPTER     VIII. 

After  the  gloom  of  Miss  Hortense's  departure 
had  disolved  itself  in  the  light  air  of  Castle  Crag 
and  Bynington  had  began  to  resign  himself  to  the 
possibility  of  existing  in  her  absence,  he  allowed 
his  old  fondness  for  the  spouse  of  Mr.  Aregave 
to  creep  into  his  breast  again,  and  every  time  he 
looked  upon  her  bewitching  face  he  swore  in  his 
inward  conscience  that  he  never  loved  a  mortal 
before  but  her,  and  never  would  love  anyone  else 
again,  and  if  he  never  could  get  a  chance  to  pro- 
claim his  devotion  he  would  go  down  to  his  grave 
admiring  her  memory  as  Don  Quixote  did  that  of 
his  lady  Dulcinea  del  Toboso.  Mrs.  Aregave  was 
a  sun  around  which  all  planets  revolve. 

One  night  there  was  a  happy  group  of  youthful 
lovers  sitting  and  lounging  around  the  veranda  of 
the  tavern,  watching  the  lightning  play  the  most 
fantastic  pranks  on  the  jagged  peaks  of  Castle 
Crags.  The  night  was  closed  in  pitchy  darkness, 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        69 

and  the  only  thing  visible  was  the  top  of  the 
Crags  when  the  chain  of  red  and  yellow  fire 
would  dance  up  and  down  the  deep  crevices. 
Once  in  a  while  it  would  flash  out  and  light  up 
the  scene  where  the  watchers  stood.  The 
weather  was  comfortably  warm,  and  they  were 
a  very  contented  group — watching  the  awe-inspir- 
ing fire  from  heaven  and  the  occasional  flash  of 
their  companion's  eyes  to  see  if  they  revealed  any 
of  the  warm,  soft  feeling  of  the  heart. 

The  Crags  from  the  tavern  show  up  like  sharp 
irregular  spires  piercing  the  blue  heavens.  On 
this  occasion  the  lightning  had  taken  control  of 
the  mountains  as  though  it  was  handled  by  a 
troop  of  weird  witches.  Sometimes  it  would 
seem  to  be  playing  around  the  peaks  a*nd  weaving 
a  web  from  one  jagged  spire  to  another  like  a 
spider  fastening  his  gofcisainer  threads  to  the  pipes 
of  a  church  organ.  It  would  again  circle  around 
the  lofty  dome  and  crown  it  with  a  diadem  of 
golden  fire;  then  it  would  take  a  zig-zag  shoot 
down  into  the  inky  blackness  of  some  deep  crevice, 
scattering  the  gloom  before  it,  and  then  it  would 
go  out  with  a  flash,  leaving  the  whole  scene  in 
suppressed  darkness. 

The    watchers  would  cuddle  together  in  solemn 
silence 

With  a  flash  the  whole  rugged  peak  would 
again  be  wrapped  up  in  a  blaze  of  glory.  The 

16 


70        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

rays  darted  down  like  golden  ribbons  lighting  up 
the  precipitous  gorges,  wooded  mountains  and 
river  canyon,  three  or  four  miles  below,  and 
carried  across  to  illuminate  the  veranda  and  min- 
gle with  the  fire  in  the  lover's  eyes. 

Again  and  again  it  repeated  the  beautiful  phe- 
nomena— the  lovers  becoming  more  deeply  inter- 
ested and  inspired.  As  the  weird  lightning  in- 
creased they  clung  closer  together,  as  the  sublim- 
ity of  the  scene  made  each  mortal  more  in  sym- 
pathy with  his  fellow  being. 

To  clasp  a  fair  hand  or  draw  a  tender  form  to 
his  breast  was  the  first  thought  of  Ben  Bynington. 

Those  thoughts  always  come  to  him  whenever 
he  was  in  the  presence  of  death,  danger,  or  over- 
whelmed by  the  wonderful  works  of  mother  na- 
ture. On  this  occasion  his  soul  was  filled  with 
love  for  his  fellow  being,  and  for  Nina  Aregave 
particularly. 

The  feeling  may  have  been  more  or  less  recip- 
rocated, as  her  thoughts  walked  on  the  zig-zag  of 
the  firey  spheres.  She  was  gliding  over  the  sur- 
face of  the  lightning  from  peak  to  peak,  and  danc- 
ing on  its  emotional  currents,  like  a  fairy  on  a 
rainbow.  As  she  whirled  around  she  imagined 
Bynington  was  stretching  out  his  hand  to  her; 
she  lost  her  balance  and  flung  herself  from  the 
dizy  wreath  of  light  into  his  out-stretched  arms — 
the  next  flash  set  the  whole  peak  in  a  crazy- war- 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        71 

ing  flutter — the  first  thing  she  knew  she  was 
wrapped  in  his  arms  indeed. 

Trembling  like  a  leaf! 

Darkness  for  a  moment! 

The  next  flash  lit  up  the  whole  veranda — only 
a  few  excited  lovers  there — she  fled  after  receiv- 
ing one  delightful  squeeze — and  took  refuge  bv 
Cloyd  Landers,  whom  one  of  the  Ashland  sisters 
had  just  deserted  after  being  in  pretty  nearly  the 
same  kind  of  a  delightful  tangle. 

Landers  commenced  playing  with  her  at  once  as 
an  antidote  for  the  serious  affairs  just  enacted. 
He  caught  hold  of  her  hand  and  was  pretty  near 
in  the  act  of  putting  his  arm  around  her  waist, 
when  a  sudden  flash  of  lightning — which  was  still 
dancing  around  the  top  of  the  distant  peaks — lit 
up  the  scene,  and  Mr.  Aregave  (who  had  just 
heard  the  rustling  of  silken  skirts  on  the  outside, 
and  suppressed  murmurs,  had  stepped  outside  to 
reconnoiter)  beheld  his  wife  in  the  arms  of  a 
sprout  of  a  San  Francisco  millionaire,  who  seemed 
to  be  in  the  act  of  taking  great  liberties  with 
her. 

The  old  gentleman  jumped  straight  up  and 
down — rubbed  his  hands — and  roared  in  his  wrath. 

The  party  of  lightning  watchers  scattered  in  a 
hurry. 

Mrs.  Aregave  vanished  to  her  rooms. 

Mr.  Landers   bolted  for  the   clubhouse   where 


72        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

he  bathed  his  sorrows  in  gin.  He  was  soon  joined 
by  Mr,  Bynington.  They  associated  themselves 
with  other  convivial  souls  who  were  leisurely 
partaking  of  mixed  drinks  through  straws,  and 
with  songs  and  stories,  cards  and  wine,  they 
passed  the  remainder  of  the  night,  trying  to  kill 
their  sorrows,  which  were  at  the  bottom  partly 
joys — and  their  joys  which  were  beclouded  with 
an  everpresent  sorrow. 

Mr.  Landers  was  carried  to  his  room  while  the 
haze  of  night  was  still  hovering  over  the  moun- 
tains, and  he  was  doubled  and  twisted  all  out  of 
shape  and  had  as  many  squirms  to  him  as  an  eel. 

Bynington  navigated  his  own  corporealness  to 
bis  chamber  and  endeavored  to  sleep  off  his  jag. 

He  awoke  the  next  day  feeling  a  little  mean, 
but  after  taking  a  good  spunging  with  ice  cold 
water  and  a  crash  towel  rub,  and  exercising  his 
lungs  with  heavy  breathing,  he  entered  upon  the 
routine  of  the  day  looking  a  very  little  the  worse 
for  the  wear, 

His  friend  Landers  was  dead  to  the  world,  till 
he  heard  that  the  Aregave's  were  packing  up  to 
leave  the  hotel  that  day. 

"What?  This  day?"  he  plaintively  cried  when 
he  heard  the  news  in  the  office.  "Thunder  and 
lightning,  what  is  the  matter  ?" 

"That  is  just  what  the  matter  is,"  winked  the 
knowing  clerk. 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS       73 

"What  ?"  cried  Landers. 

"Too  much  thunder  and  lightning,"  responded 
the  clerk  archly. 

And  the  young  ladies  present  laughed  and 
gig$ led  to  each  other,  as  they  started  off  for  a  ride 
up  the  canyon. 

Neither  Bynington  or  Landers  had  any  more  to 
say  that  day — their  jaws  fell. 

Bynington  went  out  and  propped  his  back  up 
against  a  tree  and  suffered  the  pangs  of  heart- 
ache alone,  ay  had  been  his  wont  from  a  little 
boy. 

Many  a  struggle  he  had  had  with  that  heart — the 
hardest  of  all  struggles — teaching  it  to  endure  de- 
feat, and  to  resign  the  only  object  it  loved. 

What  are  the  pangs  of  our  worldly,  every  day 
affairs  compared  with  this?  Were  every  dollar 
and  every  thing  we  possessed  in  the  world  gone 
to  the  dogs  we  could  struggle  among  our 
fellow  men  and  find  more;  but  what  can  bring  us 
back  that  love  for  which  we  pine,  when  it  is  gone 
from  us  forever '? 

O,  the  heart-aches  and  misery  that  we  cannot 
kill! 

Heavens  be  merciful  unto  us  all ! 


The  Aregave's  went  away  in  a  sulky  mood  with- 
out bidding  any  of  their  friends  good-bye. 

17 


74        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

Of  course  this  was  an  occasion  for  Landers  to  go 
over  to  the  clubhouse  again  and  soak  himself  in 
spirituous  and  malt  liquors.  He  kept  it  up  until 
the  doctors  said  it  was  affecting  his  heart.  Thus 
contracting  one  heart  trouble  to  counteract 
another.  That  was  really  robbing  Peter  to  pay 
Paul. 


The  dear  old  happy  days  never  returned  to  our 
friends  at  the  tavern  that  season.  The  light 
and  happiness  had  gone  out  forever.  In  fact 
everything  seemed  to  keep  going  from  bad  to 
worse. 

The  two  Misses  Ashland  and  their  mamma  re- 
mained. Mr.  Landers  had  been  turning  his  affec- 
tion to  one  of  these,  and  Bynington  tried  to  make  a 
sister  of  the  other,  to  see  if  it  would  fill  the  void 
in  his  heart,  which  troubled  him  night  and  day, 
and  haunted  him  in  sleep. 

These  two  ladies  were  cultivated  daughters  of 
one  of  California's  magnates,  prominent  in  the 
social  swim  and  one  was  rather  attractive.  The 
other  was  homely  as  sin — this  was  the  one  Byn- 
ington was  trying  to  make  a  sister  of — I  cannot 
admire  his  taste. 

The   season    was   changing,    and  the  time  was 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        75 

corning  when  it  was  comfortable  to  draw  into  the 
house. 

Night  had  settled  over  the  landscape,  and  a 
slight  mountain  chill  swept  down  from  the  vicin- 
ity of  Mt.  Shasta.  All  the  voices  were  hushed  on 
the  broad  veranda,  and  in  one  of  the  large  parlors 
four  of  the  guests  were  enjoying  a  quiet  game  of 
whist. 

They  played  on  and  on  through  the  long  even- 
ing till  the  halls  and  parlors  were  quite  deserted. 
The  curtains  were  all  closely  drawn  and  peace  and 
quiet  reigned  supreme. 

The  personnel  of  the  game  were  the  two 
Misses  Ashland,  Mr.  Bynington  and  Mr.  Landers. 
The  young  ladies  were  being  chaperoned  that  sum- 
mer by  their  mamma,  but  at  this  time  that  good 
lady  was  slumbering  in  the  far  off  annex  and  her 
two  daughters  were  entertaining  our  friends  in  a 
sociable  game. 

Mr.  Landers  and  Miss  Alice,  who  have  been 
more  than  sociable  on  several  occasions  of  late, 
sat  opposite  each  other  as  partners  in  the  game. 
The  play  was  waning  and  the  players  were  becom- 
ing more  absorbed  in  one  another  than  in  the 
game.  Especially  was  this  the  case  between  Alice 
and  Landers,  and  as  they  could  do  no  love-making 
while  fenced  off  by  a  man  and  woman  on  either 
side  and  a  heavy  table  between,  they  began  to 


76        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

display  the  antics  of  two  beings  who  must  either 
make  love  or  fight. 

I  don't  know  whether  the  reader  has  ever  seen 
two  people  under  just  such  conditions  or  not. 

She  was  growing  impulsive  and  peevish,  and 
finally  accused  her  partner  of  being  a  dunce. 

"I  would  rather  have  a  doll  baby  to  play  with 
than  you,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  ho,  you  crazy  thing,  I  have  won  every 
point  in  the  game,"  he  replied. 

"You  do  not  know  a  point  when  you  see  it," 
returned  the  maiden,  throwing  her  cards  down  011 
the  table. 

"I  know  this,"  said  he,  catching  hold  of  her 
hand  and  drawing  her  toward  him. 

She  gathered  up  a  handful  of  cards  and  threw 
them  in  his  face,  when  he  released  her  hand. 

Then  she  jumped  up  while  he  was  leaning  over 
the  table,  and  putting  both  hands  on  top  his  head, 
pressed  his  face  down  among  the  scattered  paste- 
boards. She  was  itching  for  mischief,  and 
evidently  got  it,  for  when  she  relieved  him  and 
ran  from  the  room  he  followed  her. 

The  halls  were  dark,  excepting  a  few  electric 
bulbs  left  burning  m  a  recess  here  and  there. 
The  guests  had  all  retired  and  the  night  clerk  was 
dozing  in  the  office. 

She  ran  along  through  the  carpeted  halls,  up  a 
flight  of  stairs  and  over  into  the  annex,  closely 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS       77 

followed  by  Mr.  Landers.  She  supposed  he  would 
quit  the  chase  when  she  dodged  in  her  private 
chamber,  next  to  that  of  her  mamma's. 

She  vanished  in  the  room  as  soon  as  she  turned 
the  corner  of  the  hall,  and  he  had  the  wonderful 
nerve  to  chase  around  the  corner  a  few  yards  be- 
hind and  follow  her  in.  I  am  backward  about  re- 
cording this,  but  I  am  compelled  to  be  true  to  my 
history,  while  entirely  dumbfounded  by  the 
transpacificcoast  gall  of  young  Landers. 

The  chamber  into  which  Landers  bolted  was 
wrapped  in  darkness,  save  for  the  dim  light  that 
floated  in  through  the  transom  and  closely  cur- 
tained windows. 

He  saw  the  outlines  of  the  white  form  for  which 
he  chased  standing  by  her  couch,  and,  panting 
like  a  hound  after  a  hare,  had  the  audacity  (dare 
I  state  it?)  to  rush  up  and  throw  both  his  arms 
rapturously  around  her  person. 

The  other  two  players  sat  in  the  parlor  looking 
at  each  other.  It  was  evident  that  the  game  had 
broken  up  in  a  row.  They  waited  for  the  pair  to 
return,  but  stillness  had  settled  down  in  the  estab- 
lishment. 

But  they  had  not  long  to  wait  before  dreadful 
shrieks^of 

"Murder!" 

''Burglars  1" 
is 


78        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

"Robbers!" 

"Cutthroats!" 

"Horse  thieves!" 

"Desperadoes!" 

came   from   many   throats   in    the   distant    wing, 
called  the  annex. 

Bynington  ran  through  the  halls  in  that  direc- 
tion, falling  over  ghostly  figures  that  were  run- 
ning out  of  every  room. 

Young  damsels,  scared  out  of  their  depart- 
ments, had  blockaded  the  way,  with  their  hair 
hanging  down  their  backs  and  the  sweet  in- 
cense of  slumber  still  surrounding  their  charms. 
In  fact  some  of  them  had  very  little  else  around 
them. 

All  the  clerks,  porters  and  watchmen  were  set 
scurrying  the  hotel,  but  not  a  robber  or  horse- 
thief  could  they  find. 

It  took  sometime  to  find  out  where  all  the  rum- 
pus started,  but  the  Misses  Ashland  finally  located 
it  in  the  chamber  of  their  mamma.  The  lady  heard 
some  villain  come  into  her  room  just  as  she  was 
in  the  act  of  retiring,  and  before  she  had^  time  to 
cry  out,  was  suddenly  seized  by  the  scoundrel, 
who  might  have  been  intending  to  strangle  her, 
for  all  she  knew — but  with  remarkable  fore- 
thought and  cool  determination  for  a  lady  of  her 
years  and  sedate  habits,  she  brought  both  of  her 
plump  arms  up  under  his  chin  and  sent  him  reel- 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        79 

ing  across  the  room.  She  then  screamed  and  he 
vanished  through  the  window  and  out  on  the 
veranda,  while  she  fell  back  exhausted. 

"Oh,  it  was  terrible!"  the  lady  said. 

Her  daughter  Alice  came  rushing  in  to  her 
assistance,  but  the  latter  could  not  see  the  robber- 
hugger  "atal'  atal',"  and  tried  to  persuade  her 
mamma  that  she  was  only  dreaming  and  had  cried 
out  in  her  sleep,  which  made  the  old  lady  feel 
worse  than  being  hugged. 

"I  know  better  than  that,  you  silly  child!"  de- 
clared her  mamma.  "For — heavens — to  think  of 
it — he  had  his  arms  clear  around  me!" 

"Now,  you  know  he  couldn't,  mamma,  because 
you  weigh  about  three  hundred  pounds,  and  no 
man  could  reach  so  far?" 

"You  impertinent  child,  go  off  to  bed!"  re- 
turned her  forebearer,  angered  at  the  insinuations 
about  her  avoirdupois.  "Just  think — he  might 
have  gone  in  your  room,  and  that  would  have 
been  awful!" 

"Wouldn't  it  though ! — to  be  caught  in  such  a 
pair  of  arms." 


There  was  nothing  discussed  the  next  day  but 
the  robbery,  or  attempted  robbery,  and  the  facts 
of  the  matter  were  never  clearly  explained. 


80        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

Mr.  Landers  renewed  his  engagement  at  the 
clubhouse  on  that  date  and  steeped  his  carcass  in 
the  strongest  alcoholic  beverages  to  be  found 
there.  He  just  loaded  his  system  up  to  the  hide 
in  strong  drinks  and  red  wine  till  he  saw  the  club- 
house get  up  and  float  down  the  river  with  the 
trees  and  the  rocks  and  the  crags  dancing  around 
it.  Then  little  imps  rose  up  out  of  the  stream 
and  others  came  down  from  the  peaks  to  fight 
over  him. 

He  was  put  to  bed  for  a  high  fever,  and  as 
soon  as  he  was  able  to  travel  the  doctors  shipped 
him  off  to  his  parents  in  the  city 

Bynington  went  away  too,  but  he  returned. 
He  renewed  his  brotherly  affections  for  the  Ash- 
land sisters,  but  on  cultivating  their  acquaintance 
he  found  that  their  tastes  and  ambitions  were  dif- 
ferent from  his.  They  had  a  veneration  of  wealth 
and  aristocracy  which  did  not  agree  with  his  dem- 
ocratic, bohemian  notions  at  all.  So  he  could  not 
help  contrasting  them  with  the  sweet  Miss  Hor- 
tense.  He  would  lay  down  in  the  shade  of  a  tree 
and  dream  of  her — of  her  pretty  mild  face  and 
graceful  form.  It  was  the  only  soothing  balm 
then  in  his  existence,  to  think  of  her  and  her 
pretty  mild  eyes,  as  he  had  seen  her  stretched 
out  on  the  green  sward,  or  reclining  on  the  comb 
of  the  poarch  resting  her  chin  in  her  hands,  her 
form  laying  carelessly  along  and  her  gray  eyes 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        81 

looking  calmly  at  the  hills  and  trees.     She    was  a 
picture  to  attract  most  any  living  mortal. 

But,  alas !  he  was  only  dreaming.  She  had 
gone,  and  he  had  not  the  courage  to  follow  her  and 
try  to  win  her  love,  which  was  really  a  jewel, 
worthy  the  affections  of  any  American  citizen,  or 
foreign  king. 

He  saw  all  this  when  she  was  gone,  and  longed 
to  fly  away  south  with  the  birds  and  throw  him- 
self at  her  feet,  but  he  was  afraid  of  the  recep- 
tion that  might  be  accorded  him.  He  imagined 
her  surrounded  by  wealthy  admirers  at  the  Bay  and 
would  probably  not  entertain  advances  from  him 
anyway,  after  what  had  happened,  and  now  that 
she  had  returned  to  her  people.  Why  should 
she,  when  there  surely  must  be  plenty  far  more 
prepossessing  men  than  he  ready  to  throw  their 
hearts  and  fortunes  at  her  feet  ?  While  he  was 
nothing,  anyway,  but  a  piece  of  drift-wood  on  the 
verge  of  creation,  pelted  about  by  every  tide. 

But,  had  he  only  known  it,  he  had  created  the 
most  lasting  impression  in  the  mind  of  Miss  Hor- 
tense.  She  was  young  then  and  her  heart  was 
soft  like  the  mud,  or  littoral  deposits  at  the  bot- 
tom of  a  disiccated  inland  pond  during  a  period 
of  transition  bt-tween  the  Jurassic  and  the  Cretac- 
eous ages,  that  received  the  impressions  of  the  trees 
and  ferns  along  the  shore.  So  that  in  after  cen- 
turies when  those  littoral  deposits  have  become 

19 


82        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

solid  rock  you  may  break  it  where  you  will  and 
the  shadow  of  those  trees  and  ferns  are  inwoven 
in  its  core  in  every  conceivable  direction.  Even 
so  was  her  heart  with  the  shadow  of  Ben  Byning- 
ton,  though  her  short  sad  life  did  not  give  it  time 
to  harden.  His  brilliant,  reckless  nature  had 
quite  captivated  her  fancy,  and  it  was  ail  to  end 
in  a  sad  tragedy. 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        83 


CHAPTER     IX. 

While  Bynington  was  cultivating  the  friendship 
of  the  Ashland  sisters,  dreaming  of  Miss  Hortense 
and  debating  in  his  mind  whether  to  stay  or  fly  to 
some  other  clirne,  the  trains  were  bringing  up  to 
the  tavern  new  faces  every  day. 

As  the  personnel  at  a  summer  resort  is  under- 
going a  continuous  change.  Some  of  these  new 
arrivals  considered  themselves  the  smarter  of  the 
smarter  set — some  of  them  too  smart  for  anything 
— knew  it  all  and  more  to.  They  were  really  the 
exclusive  of  the  exclusive  (in  their  own  minds). 
Everybody  outside  of  their  circle  was  nadie,  and 
should  be  dumped  in  the  river,  or  fed  to  the  fishes. 

They  had  heard  of  the  world-famous  dramas 
which  had  been  given  at  the  tavern,  as  well  as  the 
beauty  of  Nina  Aregave  and  the  talents  of  Ben 
Bynington,  and  of  several  other  things  which  had 
happened,  and  others  that  had  not  happened. 
The  renown  of  all  these  had  floated  down  to  the 
Bay  and  caused  a  ripple  in  society  circles  there. 


84        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

So,  of  course,  the  new  corners  must  have  dramas, 
operas,  mysterious  excursions  and  so  on. 

The}''  arranged  to  put  a  dramma  on  the  boards 
one  night,  and  fixed  up  a  stage  in  one  of  the  halls 
leading  from  the  office  for  that  purpose.  The 
stage  was  pretty  and  luxurous.  The  curtains  be- 
ing of  rich  tapestry,  imported  from  Persia,  Tur- 
key or  Ind  by  the  family  of  some  man  who  had 
made  millions  developing  the  resources  of  the  Pa- 
cific Coast.  Everything  else  was  grand  in  pro- 
portion, which  I  will  not  bother  describing  here. 

The  promoters  invited  Mr.  Bynington  to  take 
a  part,  and  he  was  requested  to  select  a  portion  of 
Shakespeare's  grand-stand-play,  Julius  Caesar. 

Mr.  Bynington  at  the  time  was  not  in  a  very 
agreeable  mood,  and  bseides  he  did  not  have  a 
very  exalted  opinion  of  some  of  the  ultra-ultra 
guests,  who  were  aping  to  such  an  extent  that 
they  were  killing  off  the  vegitation  of  the  Sierras 
with  their  agony. 

He  had  an  idea  that  some  of  those  fashionable 
people  who  were  displaying  royal  crests,  and  talk- 
ing of  marrying  their  daughters  to  foreign  dukes 
and  lords  did  not  spring  from  the  notable  ancestry 
they  boasted  of.  And  in  fact  he  was  heard  to  re- 
mark that  their  mothers  had  put  in  many  days 
over  the  washtub,  while  their  fathers  were  proba- 
bly scouring  the  town  with  old  T  D  pipes  in  their 
mouths,  looking  up  baby  napkins  and  miners' 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        85 

underwear  for  their  better  halves  to  exercise  their 
charms  over. 

This  kind  of  talk  helped  to  widen  the  breach 
between  them.  So  he  came  before  the  footlights 
that  night  as  though  he  was  going  to  a  sawmill. 
It  was  noticed  that  he  paid  no  attention  to  his 
toilet,  and  of  course  in  that  audience  they  thought 
more  about  their  dress  than  anything  which 
might  come  from  the  mind.  Two  dressy  young 
dudes  commenced  to  make  fun  of  him  before  he 
had  time  to  speak. 

"Yes,  he  will  make  us  tired,"  said  one. 

"Give  us  your  latest  hippodrome  from  Julius 
Csesar,"  said  the  other. 

He  took  in  the  situation  at  a  glance,  and  caring 
nothing  for  the  appreciation  of  this  audience, 
started  in  with: 

"  'Gallia  est  omnis  divisa  in  partes  tres,  quarum 
unam  incolunt  Belgae,  aliam  Aquitani,  tertiam  qui 
ipsorum  lingua  Celtae,  nostra  Galli  appellantur. 
Hi  omnes  lingua,  institutis,  legibus  inter  se  dif- 
ferunt.  Gallos  ab  Aquitanis  Garumna  flumen,  a 
Belgis  Matrona  et  sequana  dividit.  Horum 
omnium  fortissimi  sunt  Belgae,  propterea  quod  a 
cultu  atque  humanitate '  " 

"Let  up  with  your  French!"  shouted  the  two 
young  dudes,  interrupting  the  speaker. 

And  the  stylish  audience  became  dreadfully  in 
earnest  at  once  and  very  indignant.  The  most 

20 


86        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

ignorant  of  them  had  to  give  themselves  away 
with  the  two  dudes,  and  broke  in  with,  "you 
need  not  be  exercising  your  French  on  us  to  show 
how  well  educated  you  are." 

One  of  the  dudes  made  answer,  "No  indeed. 
I  have  studied  French  in  the  quartier  latin,  Paris, 
myself." 

And  nobody  groaned  at  his  illimitable  gall. 

Even  one  of  the  elderly  matrons  lacked  sense 
enough  to  keep  her  mouth  shut  on  such  an  im- 
portant occasion.  She  was  a  buxom  old  lady,  who 
had  known  a  great  deal  more  about  the  washtub 
and  the  formation  of  suds  in  her  younger  days 
than  the  forms  of  language,  but  who  was  now  well 
dressed,  well  fed,  fat  and  rich,  with  great  diamonds 
sparkling  from  her  plump  old  fingers  and  vulgar 
throat.  She  had  the  hardihood  to  squeal  out, 
"Don't  you  be  trying  any  of  your  French  airs  on 
us'ns!" 

"French!     Who  is  talking   French?"    asked 
our  hero,  surprised. 

"You  requested  a  selection  from  Julius  Caesar, 
and  I  gave  you  the  commencement  of  Caesar's 
Gallic  Wars,  written  by  himself." 

The  house  caught  the  turn  of  the  tide  and 
roared.  The  two  dudes  thought  best  to  slink  out 
of  the  audience. 

When  quiet  was  restored   Bynington   left   the 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        87 

stage  with:  "'Render  therefore  unto  Caesar  the 
things  which  are  Caesar's;  and  unto  God  the 
things  that  are  God's.' " 

They  had  hurt  his  sensitive  nature,  and  when 
any  wound  was  made  in  his  feelings  it  was  very 
difficult  to  heal.  The  spell  of  friendship  once 
broken  would  never  unite  again. 

He  had  no  inclination  to  associate  any  longer 
with  that  set  and  departed  for  San  Francisco,  with 
a  probable  intention  of  trying  his  fortunes  with 
Miss  Hortense,  the  more  honorable  part  of  his 
twin  loves. 

He  had  heard  a  rumor  that  she  was  sick,  but  he 
would  go  to  the  city  and  give  her  his  heart  and 
soul,  if  she  would  have  it. 

When  he  reached  the  city  he  heard  she  was 
dead.  The  blow  fell  on  him  like  a  thunderbolt 
out  of  a  clear  sky.  It  stunned  him  as  though  he 
was  being  crushed  by  a  tremendous  rock-crusher 
that  was  stamping  out  every  fiber  of  life. 

With  a  kind  of  a  dull,  half  conscious  movement 
he  left  his  hotel  and  started  for  her  home. 

After  walking  about  a  block  on  Market  street 
he  hailed  a  carriage  and  ordered  the  driver  to 
drive  him  to  street.  He  stopped  a  few  num- 
bers away  from  the  right  one,  dismissed  the  con- 
veyance and  walked  up  to  the  fine  rock  mansion. 

But  his  nerves  were  unstrung.  He  could  not 
go  in  and  see  her  people.  Doubtful  of  the  recep- 
tion awaiting  him,  anyway. 


88        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

That  gray  pile  of  rock  looked  too  cold  and  for- 
bidding— the  fogs  and  the  winds  from  the  Golden 
Gate  had  been  beating  against  it  for  years — he 
dare  dot  let  his  thoughts  go  any  further  than  the 
walls  of  the  building. 

So  he  walked  up  and  down  the  block  a  few 
times  to  brace  his  nerves. 

Finally  he  mustered  up  courage  and  walked 
firmly  up  the  steps  and  rang  the  bell. 

A  maid  come  to  the  door,  and  ushered  him  into 
the  reception  room,  after  a  few  questions,  and 
after  taking  his  card  to  be  delivered  to  Mrs. 
Hortense. 

As  he  sat  in  the  room,  his  senses  keenly  alive  to 
every  sound,  he  cast  his  eyes  around  the  depart- 
ment and  noticed  that  it  was  fitted  up  in  a  refiner! 
luxury.  He  knew  that  some  delicate,  artistic 
hand  presided  over  that  house,  and  began  to  won- 
der if  it  was  not  the  hand  of  her  forever  stilled 
who  was  the  presiding  genius  of  the  place.  The 
picture  of  a  man  looked  down  upon  him  from  the 
wall.  It  was  the  strong  visage  of  one  of  the  men 
who  had  shaped  the  destiny  of  California.  He 
new  b}r  the  resemblance  that  it  was  the  father, 
who  had  nothing  now  left  on  this  earth  but  his 
shadow  in  a  frame  on  the  wall.  His  eyes  were 
drawn  from  this  to  the  shadow  of  another.  There 
— there  were  those  mild  eyes  looking  down  on 
him.  Sweet,  dear  girl  in  all  her  beauty. 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        89 

The  picture  had  the  power  to  draw  him  to  it. 
A  calm,  mystic  sensation  was  thrown  around  him. 
She  seemed  to  be  with  him  in  the  wild  woods,  or 
at  some  still  old  church  or  mission  on  a  calm  Sun- 
day afternoon,  and  he  was  conscious  of  a  smell  of 
myrrh  and  sandalwood.  He  might  be  taking  her 
hand  at  a  wedding — the  thoughts  of  a  wedding — 
if  he  could  only  clasp  that  hand  again ! 

As  the  thoughts  of  what  might  have  happened, 
flooded  his  mind,  his  feelings  softened  and  the 
tears  were  very  near  breaking  through  the  foun- 
tains of  light. 

A  tall,  graceful,  refined  woman,  with  a  few  silver 
threads  in  her  hair,  glided  softly  into  the  room 
before  he  was  aware  and  extended  a  pretty  little 
hand  to  him. 

He  arose  and  returned  the  greeting,  and  as  he 
looked  in  her  eyes,  she  noticed  the  pathetic,  melt- 
ing look  in  his — took  out  her  handkerchief  and 
sobbed  piteously. 

They  sat  there  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes,  both 
sad  and  distressed. 

She  told  all  about  the  end — and  there  was  no 
blame  whatever  laid  to  him — though  he  could  not 
help  thinking  himself  guilty. 

"I  knew  that  her  death  was  really  caused  by  a 
tragedy,"  went  on  this  mother,  who  really  looked 
as  though  she  might  be  Lillian  grown  old.  "She 
caught  cold  in  the  mountains." 

21 


90        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

"Did  she  speak  of  me  ?"  he  finally  ventured  to 
ask. 

"Oh  yes!  She  said  that  you.  was  on  the  river 
bank  with  her  when  she  fell  through  the  thick 
foliage  that  hid  the  precipice  and  river.  And 
I  could  tell  you  lots  besides. 

"She  loved  you! 

"She  died  with  your  name  on  her  lips. 

"'Save  me,  Bynington!'  were  the  last  words 
uttered,  as  she  sank  into  forgetfulness. 

"Oh!  oh!!  oh!!!  Lillian!  Lillian!!  Lillian!!! 
my  child!  my  child!!" 

The  cries  of  this  mother  would  break  anyone's 
heart — and  Bynington  felt  himself  to  be  the 
meanest  man  on  earth.  He  had  been  afraid  that 
he  would  be  blamed,  and  now,  he  wished  that  all 
the  blame  could  be  put  on  him.  He  never  real- 
ized his  selfishness  so  strongly  as  at  this  time. 

* 'Would  to  God  that  I  could  have  died  for  her," 
were  the  thoughts  that  crowded  his  mind,  but  he 
felt  too  bad  to  utter  them. 

Had  he  been  the  cause  of  all  this  sorrow,  and 
responsible  for  the  death  of  the  noblest  girl  he 
ever  met  in  his  life  ?  To  think  over  it  would 
kill  him.  He  could  not  find  strength  to  say  one 
word.  But  sat  and  listened  to  the  poor  mother's 
sobs. 

"I  must  leave  you  now,  dear  Mrs.  Hortense  ! " 
he  finally  cried,  with  a  longing  to  be  alone  in  the 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        91 

open  air.  "I  cannot  hear  any  more,  believe  me ! 
If  I  could  only  give  my  life  for  hers.  But  it  is 
too  late  !  too  late !  I  am  a  wretch ! 

"May  heaven  always  protect  you." 

He  kissed  ner  hand,  while  she  held  the  hand- 
kerchief to  her  face,  and  his  lips  touched  her 
cheek.  That  touch  on  the  cheek  seemed  to  be  to 
him  in  after  life  a  benediction. 

He  hurried  from  the  house  and  out  into  the 
sharp  sea-tempered  air. 

He  ran  along  the  street  for  an  hour  and  a  half. 
Not  knowing  where  he  was  going,  or  not  caring, 
just  so  he  kept  moving — kept  down  the  feeling 
that  was  tearing  at  his  heart. 

When  he  became  exhausted,  and  found  himself 
alone  in  the  dark  street — for  it  was  night — he 
hunted  up  a  street  which  cars  ran  on,  and,  as  all 
roads  lead  to  Rome,  so  all  street  cars  in  San 
Francisco  lead  down  Market  street  and  to  the 
big  hotels. 


He  at  last  found  himself  in  his  room,  closed  the 
door  and  tossed  his  exhausted  form  upon  the 
bed. 

"Lillian !  Lillian ! !  Lillian ! ! !" 

"O,  my  head !  my  head ! !  Hold  my  head  to  keep 
it  from  splitting!" 


.: 


92        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

And  he  probably  would  have  gone  crazy,  only 
the  tears  were  always  near  his  eyes — a  weakness 
inherited  from  his  mother — and  they  broke  loose 
now  and  flowed  in  torrents. 

He  cried  like  a  child,  only  so  much  more  pite- 
ously.  A  strong  heart  was  breaking,  in  prefer- 
ence to  being  turned  into  that  of  a  lunatic. 

"Father  redeem  this  bitter  cup,  if  thus  thy 
sacred  will!" 

After  a  few  hours  struggle  with  himself  his 
sorrow  was  greatly  assuaged. 

He  had  outlived  tragedies  before,  bat  none  so 
pathetic  as  this  one.  To  think  that  the  only 
known  person  who  might  share  the  sunshine  of 
life  with  him — might  be  a  life  companion  through 
joys  and  sorrows — had  really  faded  from  the  face 
of  the  earth,  and  left  not  a  vestige  of  her  lovely 
form. 

How  pathetic  it  is  to  realize  that  a  loved  one 
has  disappeared  for  the  last  time.  We  see  her 
depart  in  health  and  strength,  not  thinking  but 
what  we  may  meet  again  tomorrow;  but  through 
all  time,  through  all  eternity,  we  are  never  to 
gaze  upon  that  being  again.  Never !  never ! 
never ! 

This  scene  is  growing  too  sad.  If  I  kept  on 
this  way  I  would  have  to  kill  him  off.  I  may 
have  to  kill  him  off  yet,  or  marry  him  to  a  widow. 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        93 


CHAPTER     X. 

It  was  a  busy  day  in  the  metropolis  of  the  Pa- 
cific Coast  and  our  hero  was  seated  by  ODe  of  the 
little  tables  in  the  grand  court  of  the  leading 
hotel  where  he  could  lean  back  in  the  tempered 
light  from  the  immense  lofty  glass  roof  and  read 
the  daily  papers.  The  court  was  surrounded  by 
magnificent  lofty  columns  of  fine  white  marble, 
faced  with  glass,  and  tropical  plants  and  flowers 
added  to  the  luxury  of  the  scene.  He  sat  there 
carelessly  perusing  the  big  sheets  and  occasion- 
ally glancing  around  at  the  busy  throng  who 
hurried  through  the  corridors  of  that  wonderful 
caravansary. 

As  some  fashionable  gentlemen  went  by  a  young 
man  deviated  from  the  throng  and  laid  his  hand 
on  Bynington's  shoulder,  and — making  sure  who 
it  was — embraced  him  familiarly. 

"Dear  old  Bynington,  you  here?"  I  never  ex- 
pected to  see  you  again." 

22 


94        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

And  looking  up  he  beheld  the  jovial  counten- 
ance of  Cloyd  Landers. 

"Well !  if  here  isn't  the  very  same  Cloyd  of  the 
mountains  and  the  glens,  the  forests  and  the 
greenwood  springs ! 

"My  good  angel,  I  am  more  than  delighted  to 
meet  with  thee  again !" 

And  they  greeted  each  other  with  the  affection 
of  two  brothers. 

"Be  seated,  Landers,  and  let  me  hear  your  tale 
of  woe  and  narrative  of  conquests," — and  he 
pulled  one  of  the  chairs  around  to  his  companion. 

But  Landers  declined  the  proffered  seat  and  de- 
clared that  he  must  have  something  to  eat  before 
entering  on  a  long  conversation  with  an  unseen- 
friend  of  many  months. 

"Well,  then,  suppose  we  adjourn  to  the  Grill 
Room?"  suggested  Bynington. 

'•The  very  thing  I  was  about  to  propose,"  said 
Landers,  "as  I  have  been  running  around  town 
and  am  as  hungry  as  a  grizzly." 

Our  boon  companions  departed  without  further 
parlance,  and  seating  themselves  at  one  of  the 
tables  in  that  clean,  savory-conducted  department 
of  San  Francisco's  greatest  caravansary,  ordered 
something  grilled. 

I  know  of  no  better  dining  place  for  a  hungry 
man  to  sit  down  to  eat  in  the  United  States  than 
this  same  place.  Everything  is  cooked  right 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        95 

within  one's  sight,  and  the  very  air  seems  to  coax 
an  appetite.  Comfort,  luxury  and  good-cheer  are 
combined  iii  everything  that  meets  the  eye  or  the 
senses. 

The  diners  scattered  around  at  the  little  tables 
are  more  interesting  than  the  surroundings. 
There  can  be  seen  the  men  who  made  California 
(at  least  could  be  when  the  heroes  of  this  narra- 
tive were  there).  There  are  the  controllers  of  the 
great  railroad  lines;  the  Croesus  of  the  huge  bank- 
ing establishments;  the  bonanza  kings  from  the 
exhaustless  mines  of  the  Pacific  Coast,  reckless 
of  money  and  flavored  of  quartz  and  gold;  the 
men  who  "mold  public  opinion"  in  the  press  of 
the  State;  and  actors  and  artists  of  the  city  and  the 
world.  And  the  }Tounger  generation  can  be  seen 
mingling  with  the  reminents  of  the  stock  of  forty- 
nine — the  offsprings  of  the  wealthy  and  the  bud- 
ding dudes  are  all  in  that  historical  establishment 
satisfying  their  appetites  and  sipping  wine. 

It  is  a  splendid  place  in  which  to  sit  and  talk 
leisurely  with  a  friend,  as  it  is  not  characterized 
with  the  rush  of  a  restaurant,  and  the  furnishings 
are  spotlessly  clean — it  conveys  an  atmosphere  of 
the  wealth  of  the  Golden  Gate,  and  was  the 
biggest  undertaking  of  the  days  of  old,  the  days 
of  gold  and  the  days  of  forty-nine. 

Both  Bynington  and  Landers  recognized  many 
of  the  prominent  men  present  (women  are  barred 


96        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

from  this  department)  and  exchanged  greetings 
while  waiting  for  their  orders  to  be  grilled. 

"I  suppose,  Landers,  you  never  carry  a  jag 
around  with  you  when  in  San  Francisco  ?"  queried 
Mr.  Bynington,  feeling  his  friend's  appetite  for 
liquid  refreshments. 

"No,  not  recently,  at  least,"  answered  Mr.  Lan- 
ders, "and  to  tell  you  something  confidentially 
and  of  great  importance  to  large  interests  on  this 
Coast,  I  am  going  to  be  married."  And  he  looked 
at  his  companion  to  see  if  he  was  not  staggered 
by  the  great  importance  of  the  disclosure. 

"Good,  my  boy,  the  best  thing  in  the  world," 
answered  the  other  without  feeling  concerned  in 
the  least.  "But  who  is  the  misfortunate  crea- 
ture?— I  mean  the  fortunate  one?" 

"Miss  Ashland." 

"Which — the  elder  and  homely  one?" 

"No  !  you  cynic,  the  very  charming  Alice — the 
younger  of  the  sisters." 

"It  is  a  pretty  sad  affair." 

"It  will  be  a  grand  affair.  All  the  morning  pa- 
pers will  devote  columns  of  their  space  to  describ- 
ing the  transaction  and  adorn  the  top  of  the  page 
with  our  pictures." 

"That  will  be  something  elegant  indeed.  'Top 
of  column,  next  to  pure  reading  matter,  with  no 
display  ads.  on  either  side,'  as  the  advertising 
agent  says." 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS        97 

"And  it  will  be  such  a  notable  event  in  society. 
There  are  few  men  in  the  city  considered  a  bet- 
ter catch  than  myself,  if  I  do  say  it." 

"That's  what  I  say,  Landers,  old  boy.  You  are 
a  bird,  but  it  isn't  everybody  who  knows  it.  Is 
her  mamma  willing?" 

"I  presume  so.  You  know  I  had  a  scene  with 
her  once." 

"In  the  room  at  the  hotel  ?" 

"Yes." 

"And  you  was  worse  scared  than  she  was." 

"When  I  found  I  had  hold  of  the  wrong  per- 
son, in  the  wrong  room,  I  was  ready  to  drop." 

"You  was  afraid  she  would  claw  your  eyes  out." 

"The  thoughts  of  it  would  drive  a  man  to 
drink." 

"  And  it  doesn't  take  a  very  great  force  to  drive 
you  either.  I  suppose  you  are  not  backward 
about  marrying  a  girl  and  dividing  up  your  time 
between  her  and  the  jag?" 

"0 !  I  don't  intend  to  marry  until  I  return  from 
the  Keeley  cure." 

"I  see.  You  will  go  to  one  of  these  places  to 
have  the  whiskey  cured.  Then  you  will  have  a 
new  poison  to  mingle  with  the  other.  These  are 
poor  inheritances  to  commence  a  family  with. 

23 


98         A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

They  will  show  up  sure  as  fate — all  chickens  come 
home  to  roost,  sooner  or  later." 

"What's  the  use  of  being  so  conscientious  about 
a  little  thing  like  that  ?  I  know  plenty  men  who 
have  drunken  wives." 

"That's  so.  But  I  think  you  would  have  a 
touch  of  conscientious  jar  at  uniting  yourself  with 
a  pure  young  girl  after  all  your  little  scrapes." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"Oh,  nothing  very  serious.  You  know  you 
have  had  several  little  flirtations  (to  put  it  mildly) 
with  divers  women." 

"All  the  young  men  nowadays  run  indiscrimin- 
ately with  women,  and  I  am  no  better  than  the 
rest  of  them." 

"And  I  suppose  you  demand  that  the  girl  you 
marry  be  as  chaste  as  a  piece  of  marble,  which 
could  not  be  penetrated  with  a  chisel?  (I  am  not 
hinting  at  anything  I  heard  in  the  Crag 
country)." 

"Most  emphatically  I  do !  You  don't  suppose  I 
would  marry  a  girl  whom  there  was  one  suspicious 
thought  about?"  replied  Landers,  growing  vehem- 
ent at  the  idea. 

"I  see.  You  are  like  the  great  Julius  himself 
— 'Caesar's  wife  must  be  above  suspicion' — but 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS       99 

now,  to  be  plain  with  you,  Mr.  Landers,  what 
right  have  you  to  associate  with  desolute  women 
and  then  demand  that  the  girl  you  marry  be  as 
spotless  as  the  driven  snow?  (of  course  I  would 
not  say  that  men  are  getting  fooled  on  the  'spot- 
lessness,'  question  as  well  as  women).  The  fact  that 
other  men  do  the  same  is  no  excuse  for  you. 
What  business  have  you  with  virgins?" 

"I  have  heard  a  great  deal  of  nonsense  about 
virgins  already.  A  virgin  is  principally  valuable 
for  what  may  be  expected  of  her  in  the  future." 

"I  thought  I  was  the  greatest  sinner  in  the  world, 
but  I  believe  you  are  worse.  If  an  expression  of 
that  kind  should  get  out  it  would  shock  the  com- 
munity. The  laws  of  Nature  demand  a  restraint 
on  women,  or  they  suffer " 

"I  see.      Your  'chickens'  again." 

"Chickens  coming  home  are  disagreeable  things, 
but  depend  upon  it  they  will  come." 

"Well,  what  would  you  advise  me  to  do?"  fin- 
ally asked  Landers,  quite  dejected. 

"Go  get  thee  to  a  nunnery — or,  I  mean — send 
the  girl  to  a  nunnery.'' 

"You  think  that  would  be  the  better  plan  ?" 
asked  Landers,  growing  more  serious. 

"No !  I  know  you  would  not  take  my  advise 
anyway,  and  then  I  am  really  opposed  to  anybody 
going  to  a  nunnery.  It  is  better  for  a  girl  to 
marry  moat  any  kind  of  a  man — capable  or  in- 


100       A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

capable — than  to  go  throw  her  life  awajr  to  the 
idea  of  chastity,  soliciting  or  dispensing  charity* 
and  fingering  over  her  beads. 

"  'The  Spaniard,  when  the  lust  of  sway 

Had  lost  its  quickening  spell, 
Cast  crowns  for  rosaries  away, 

An  empire  for  a  cell ; 
Yet  better  had  he  neither  known 
A  bigot's  shrine,  nor  despot's  throne,' 

sang  Byron,  and  of  course  a  bigot's  shrine  is  a 
poor  place  for  anybody.  I  like  chastity,  but 
would  rather  not  see  it  used  in  that  way." 

"Well,  here !  It  is  not  right  to  make  any  light 
remarks  about  these  sisters  who  enter  nunneries. 
You  have  been  philosophizing  to  me,  and  here  you 
are  getting  more  profane  than  I." 

"I  am  still  philosophizing.  I  do  not  believe  it 
is  right  for  a  woman  to  devote  her  life  to  the  idea 
of  celibacy.  To  be  good  is  one  thing;  to  be  too 
good  is  another.  Total  abstinence  of  that  kind 
is  a  crime." 

"Unless  a  person  wishes  to  live  such  a  life." 

"No.  Society  has  a  right  to  demand  certain 
duties  from  its  members,  and  none  have  a  right 
to  retire  themselves  without  good  cause." 

"Why,  part  of  the  Christian  population  look 
upon  these  nuns  as  being  worthy  of  worship." 

"With  due  respect  for  the  consideration  of  these 
pious  people,"  asserted  Bynmgton,  warmly,  "I  must 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS      101 

decidedly  scout  the  idea.  Because  a  girl  lays  aside 
the  natural  duties  of  life  and  immures  herself  in  a 
consent,  should  she  become  an  object  of  worship? 
Well,  I  must  candidly  tell  you  she  is  not  the  kind 
of  woman  man  worships.  He  always  has  and 
always  will  worship  his  mother  (or  his  lover). 
Did  you  ever  hear  of  men  going  out  to  the  ceme- 
teries to  place  flowers  upon  the  graves  of  dead 
virgins — old  or  young?" 

'•Well,  hardly." 

"One  of  the  oldest  pictures  in  the  world,  and 
the  most  beautiful,  is  the  picture  of  a  young 
mother  and  her  child.  There  is  nothing  else  to 
compare  with  it;  it  is  symbolic  of  our  race. 

"I  seriously  think  that  the  founders  of  the 
Christian  religion  stole  the  picture  from  the 
ancients  and  made  it  a  'Blessed  Virgin  and  Child,' 
in  place  of  a  'Blessed  Mother  and  her  Child' — 
there  is  no  name  more  holy  blessed  than  that  of 
mother — no  other  memory  that  will  be  kept  so 
green — no  other  sentiment  as  tender — or  that 
will  outlast  the  corroding  rust  of  time. 

"Oh  mother !  you  need  no  defense  of  your  rep- 
utation." 

"So  you  think  that  the  first  duty  of  every 
woman  is  to  raise  a  family,"  said  Landers. 

"There  is  no  duty  imposed  upon  a  woman  in 
this  world  that  is  half  as  grand  as  rearing  a  fam- 
ily— all  the  priests  and  ranters  between  here  and 

24 


102       A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

hades  could  not  convince  me  to  the  contrary.  Nor 
the  'new  woman/  with  her  criminal  practices  of 
trying  to  shirk  that  duty;  nor  anyother  faction 
who  undertakes  to  frustrate  the  will  of  nature — 
For  heaven's  sake  let  nature  take  her  course — 
especially  in  California,  where  she  has  so  many 
enemies. 

"No  other  clime  has  rear'd  a  race  diffused 
With  elements  so  grand,  nor  none  abused." 

As  usual  his  conversation  had  grown  so  inter- 
esting that  it  attracted  a  crowd,  and  the  two 
friends  saw  it  become  necessary  to  disappear,  or 
hire  a  hall,  so  they  vanished. 

They  went  for  a  drive  through  the  Park,  around 
the  Presidio  and  the  Golden  Gate,  where  they 
could  have  a  good  view  of  that  harbor  (one  of  the 
grandest  in  the  world)  and  to  which  their  Bay  of 
Naples  (boasted  of  and  written  about  so  much  and 
so  often)  and  other  European  and  Asia  estuaries 
do  not  begin  to  compare.  The  Golden  Gate, 
though  not  known  to  fame,  or  handed  down  in 
ancient  song  and  story,  is  more  commanding,  and 
the  cliffs  are  more  lofty  and  picturesque  than  the 
Golden  Horn,  Dardenelles,  Cape  Sigseum  (flanked 
by  the  Hellespont  and  by  the  sea),  where  the 
waves  of  the  Bospborus  lash  the  shores  of  Eu- 
rope and  Asia,  or  in  fact,  than  anyother  inlet 
from  any  ocean  we  know  of. 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS      103 

Our  two  friends  reined  up  behind  the  big  guns 
at  the  Presidio,  which  commands  the  entrance 
to  San  Francisco  bay,  and  gazed  long  at  the  in- 
spiring pauarama  stretched  before  them.  There 
were  great  ships  gliding  through  the  silvery 
Golden  Gate  to  meet  the  rough  swell  of  the 
trackless  Pacific  ocean;  others  coming  in  laden 
with  the  commerce  of  Asia,  Japan,  India,  Austra- 
lia and  the  islands  of  the  sea;  aud  in  the  offing 
were  crafts  of  sail  and  steam  picking  up  the 
wealth  of  the  Coast  from  Chile  to  Alaska.  The 
Marin  hills  and  Alcatraz  Island  were  standing  out 
like  living  sentinels  in  the  distance  to  warn  the 
bristling  guns  in  case  a  foe  should  dare  to  pass. 
And  the  clear  atmosphere  enabled  them  to  see  up 
the  harbor  through  San  Pablo  and  Suisun  Bays 
for  a  distance  of  fifty  miles — a  harbor  in  which 
all  the  commerce  of  the  world  could  ride 
at  anchor.  They  pondered  thoughtfully  over  the 
possibilities  that  await  this  great  mart  in  the 
future,  and  then  resumed  their  ride  around  to 
the  Cliff  House  and  Golden  Gate  Park.  And  that 
Park  !  why  there  is  not  another  park  on  the  face 
of  the  globe  that  is  capable  of  making  a  green 
spot  on  its  features.  Not  even  the  Hesperian 
Gardens  famed  of  old.  California  has  many  big 
things,  but  none  have  baen  nourished  so  assidu- 
ously as  this  Park — the  pride  of  San  Francisco 
and  the  State  at  large. 


104       A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

Bynington  had  seen  about  all  the  famous  Parks 
of  the  world,  and  he  contrasted  them  with  this 
one  for  the  edification  of  Landers,  as  they  rode 
around  its  sheltered  glens  and  elegant  drives. 

Landers  told  him  about  his  coming  wedding  and 
his  hopes  of  being  first  sobered  up  by  the  "gold 
cure." 

"I  understand  the  Aregave's  are  now  cutting  a 
wide  swath  in  New  York,"  said  Landers  after  he 
tired  himself  and  friend  talking  of  his  own 
affairs. 

"Aj*e  they?"  asked  his  companion. 

"Yes.  The  woman  who  so  fascinated  us  with 
a  glance  is  holding  the  same  sway  over  the  female- 
killing  population  of  the  Atlantic  Coast.  I  told 
you  that  you  loved  in  vain." 

"I  am  used  to  that." 

"Do  you  know  there  is  something  strange 
about  that  marriage  ?  The  woman  acts  as  though 
she  had  a  longing." 

"I  did  not  know  that  you  was  such  a  judge  of 
human  nature  as  that.  It  is  a  longing  for  some- 
thing lacking." 

"Why?    Do  you  think  so  too ?" 

"I  thoroughly  understood  the  situation  from 
the  start." 

"It  is  a  bad  way  to  use  a  woman." 

"It  accounts  for  some  of  her  actions  too." 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS      105 

"I  think  there  was  something  between  you  and 
her." 

"No.  If  she  was  used  right  she  would  be  a 
great  woman — one  of  the  best  in  the  world."  And 
he  sighed  deeply. 

Landers  noticed  the  troubled  look  on  his  face 
and  made  no  further  remark. 

They  dined  together  at  the  Cliff  and  returned 
to  the  city  under  the  cover  of  night.  Landers 
buoyant  with  the  hopes  of  youth,  and  what  the 
world  and  wealth  had  in  store  for  him  (not  count- 
ing the  Keeley  Cure);  Bynington  grave  and  still 
brooding  over  his  deep  sorrow. 


A  CHANQE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 


PART     II. 

CHAPTER    I. 


N  San  Francisco  Bynington  found  no 
rest  for  the  soles  of  his  feet,  or  imag- 
ined he  didn't.  The  sad  memory  of  the 
mission  which  took  him  there  soon 
hastened  his  departure,  and  it  was  not 
long  until  he  found  himself  back  in  the 
mountains.  He  was  a  wanderer  anyway 
and  could  easily  find  an  excuse  for 
changing  his  place  of  abode,  and  then, 
the  mountains  suited  him  better  than 
any  where  else.  So,  behold,  our  hero 
back  at  a  resort  where  it  was  supposed 

he  had  taken  his  departure  for  good. 

Through    the   long   and  lonely  fall  Bynington 

haunted  his  accustomed  walks  of  the  summer  and 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS      107 

dreamed  of  the  dear  ones  departed.  His  heart 
was  sore,  and  sad  and  miserable  were  his  feelings. 
He  longed  to  fly  away  south  with  the  birds 
and  follow  those  he  loved;  but  where  could  he 
go?  His  love  was  dead  and  cold.  And  sad  and 
solemn  were  the  recollections  of  it. 

And  his  other  love — it  was  too  sad  to  think  of; 
and,  anyway,  she  had  departed  for  the  East  with 
her  husband  and  was  well  out  of  harm's  way. 

It  is  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world  for 
the  living  to  think  of  the  living  and  gradually  for- 
get the  dead,  and  had  the  living  object  of  his  af- 
fections been  within  reach  he  might  have  turned 
to  her  for  sympathy,  at  this  time,  but  she  was  not 
there,  and  there  was  nothing  within  his  reach  to 
cling  to;  so  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  falling 
leaves  Nature  taught  him  to  resign. 

He  sat  down  on  the  mountain  side  and  watched 
the  foliage — the  turning  of  the  dainty  leaves 
from  green  to  red  and  brilliant  hues.  Probably 
the  only  case  in  nature  where  the  touch  of  death 
is  more  beautiful  than  the  bloom  of  youth. 


In  the  meantime  Mrs.  Aregave  was  taking  the 
fashionable  part  of  New  York  by  storm.  She 
was  just  the  belle  of  the  town — fell  upon  it  like  a 
meteor  from  a  clear  sky.  And  what  an  unprece- 


108        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

dented  flurry  she  was  cutting  in  that  society,  all 
unintentionally  to.  The  people  with  whom  she 
came  in  contact  became  smitten  with  her  charms 
— especially  the  masculine  portion — and  had  she 
desired  to  be  a  little  "speedy"  the  disturbances  in 
domestic  relations  would  hare  been  notorious; 
but  as  it  was  the  bald-headed  hubbys  and  budding 
youths  only  made  uninteresting  fools  of  them- 
selves. She  would  not  entertain  any  of  their  ad- 
vances, and  was  put  down  as  being  "true  as 
steel"  to  her  elderly  lord,  which  was  considered  to 
be  a  virtue  worse  than  a  vice  in  the  smart  town 
of  Gotham. 

But  her  short  stay  there  became  famous.  Her 
exceptional  beauty,  winning  ways  and  sweet  voice 
endeared  her  to  all  with  whom  she  came  in  con- 
tact and  many  of  our  New  York  readers  undoubt- 
edly remember  her  to  this  day.  The  California 
colony  in  that  metropolis  had  never  produced 
such  a  creation  before,  and  those  who  pre- 
ceded her  from  the  Pacific  Coast  with 
millions  looking  for  a  higher  society  and 
the  latest  importation  of  a  foreign  nobility, 
to  exchange  beauty  and  gold  for  a  title, 
were  entirely  forgotten.  She  was  not  only  a  fad 
but  an  object  of  worship.  Many  of  her  admirers 
urged  her  to  go  on  the  stage,  where  her  beauty 
and  musical  talents  would  win  a  world-wide  repu- 
tation and  undying  fame,  but  she  scouted  such  an 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS      109 

idea — what  did  she  want  of  a  reputation  and   a 
famous  name. 

The  world  and  posterity  were  destined  to  know 
of  her  anyway — and  perhaps  a  great  deal  more 
than  was  for  her  own  good. 

The  season  drew  to  a  close  at  Castle  Crags  and 
Bynington  took  himself  off  to  one  of  the  little 
towns  in  the  vicinity,  made  friends  with  the  na- 
tives, miners,  railroaders,  sawmillers,  woodchoppers 
and  mountaineers,  whom  he  had  not  taken  the 
trouble  to  notice  before,  but  with  whom  he  had 
now  become  the  best  of  friends.  There  was  a 
touch  of  nature  about  him  that  made  him  kin  with 
all  classes — just  one  of  Nature's  children  he  was, 
and  nothing  more.  He  found  the  same  fellow- 
ship with  the  sawmiller,  the  woodchopper,  the 
railroader  and  the  country  merchant  he  did  with 
the  millionaire,  speculator,  professional  man  or 
man  of  literature.  Of  course  the  woodchoppers, 
etc.,  lacked  polish;  were  more  of  the  earth,- 
earthy,  and  could  only  talk  about  their  trade; 
but  that  is  about  all  the  others  could  talk  about. 
The  men  of  letters,  or  the  stage,  were  more  of  his 
own  kind  than  any  of  those  others. 

"And  there  is  no  class,"  says  du  Maurier,  "where 
the  welcome  is  so  likely  to  be  so  genuine  and  sin- 
cere, so  easy  to  win,  so  difficult  to  outstay,  where 
the  memory  of  us  will  be  kept  so  green,  as  among 

26 


110       A  CHANGE  WITH     THE  SEASONS 

the  people  of  our  own  calling  and  profession." 
And  the  author  of  "Trilby"  is  strictly  right  in  this. 
Bynington  had  been  partly  aware  of  this  truth  for 
a  long  time  himself,  though  he  certainly  had  never 
read  "Trilby,"  as  those  things  transpired  at  the 
Crags  long  before  the  event  of  that  work  or  its 
author.  But  he  remembered  the  pleasant  excur- 
sions he  had  with  literary  people,  and  the  delight- 
ful associations  with  the  Bohemians  of  the  quill 
and  stage  in  different  cities,  as  the  most  enjoyable 
periods  of  his  life.  And  he  had  a  strong  inkling 
that  they  would  be  the  truest  and  most  enduring 
friends  he  would  ever  know.  Their  sympathies 
were  his  and  so  were  their  aims  in  life.  He  had 
crossed  the  continent  several  times  with  manipu- 
lators of  the  quill,  when  everybody  had  left  their 
cares  at  home  and  were  out  on  a  lark,  and  those 
were  the  happiest  occasions  of  all.  Each  one 
seemed  to  act  as  a  stimulant  for  the  other;  and 
while  they  knew  that  they  would  return  to  their 
labors  with  regrets  because  the  picnic  was  over, 
they  would  be  sustained  and  strengthened  as 
never  before. 

He  remembered,  even,  that  there  was  a  strong 
kinship  between  him  and  the  literary  women,  and 
the  memory  of  several  of  those  were  still  cherished 
in  the  inner  confines  of  his  heart  as  being  his  true 
sisters  on  a  common  plane.  But  the  "new 
woman,"  with  all  her  arrogance  and  crowding  to 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS      111 

the  front,  did  not  enter  his  good  graces  at  all. 
She  was  not  the  kind  to  win  his  affections,  and  a 
woman  who  could  not  arouse  the  fire  of  love  in 
him  must  be  a  mistaken  creation,  because  he  had 
pretty  nearly  love  enough  to  take  in  the  whole 
sex.  He  believed  that  woman  was  born  to 
"minister  delight  to  man,  to  beautify  the  earth," 
and  not  to  be  his  opponent. 


112       A  CHANGE  WITH     THE  SEASONS 


CHAPTER     II. 

But  our  hero  Bynington,  a  man  of  many  climes 
and  skies,  now  fell  into  the  society  of  the  little 
town  in  the  mountains,  and  also  into  the  ways  of 
its  inhabitants,  just  when  the  fall  rains  were  set- 
ting in,  and  amused  himself  during  part  of  the 
disagreeable  season  by  playing  poker,  or  indulg- 
ing in  whatever  other  kind  of  "elevating"  amuse- 
ment came  in  his  way.  He  would  play  any  game 
of  cards  which  the  woodchopper,  sawmiller,  bull- 
whacker,  stagedriver,  railroader  or  merchant 
would,  and  he  did  not  always  come  out  loser 
either.  He  had  played  the  same  game  with  both 
millionaire  and  sharper,  and  knew  they  were  all 
frauds. 

In  -that  town  there  lived  a  rather  prosperous 
merchant  named  Viebrasit,  who  was  a  dealer  in 
general  merchandise,  drugs  and  medicines,  tallow 
and  hides,  cordwood  and  miners'  supplies.  In 
fact  he  did  about  all  the  business  in  the  town, 
from  putting  up  a  pill  to  putting  up  a  coffin. 


A  CHANGE   WITH  THE  8KAJSONS       113 

Now  Mr.  Viebrasit  was  a  man  of  family,  of  more 
than  lawful  age,  of  much  wealth  and  had  unlimit- 
ed credit.  He  was  one  of  the  substantial  creations 
of  the  place,  intrusted  with  many  public  trusts 
and  responsibilities,  and  looked  upon  with  goocl 
favor  by  his  neighbors  as  being  just  and  upright 
in  all  his  dealings,  which  he  undoubtedly  was. 
He  was  one  of  the  first  men  whom  Bynington 
became  acquainted  with  in  the  place.  Our  hero 
soon  learned  that  the  pill-  and  sugar-sand-mixer, 
and  publc-trust-holder,  was  quite  a  philosopher  in 
his  way.  He  was  an  active  politician,  of  course, 
had  stumped  the  county  for  the  Populist  party, 
and  made  temperance  his  main  hobby.  He  was 
holding  office  at  the  time  under  the  great  Populis- 
tic  banner,  but  he  was  ready  at  any  time  to  desert 
that  standard  for  the  cause  of  sobriety.  He  read 
Bynington  many  lectures  on  temperance  and  also 
lectured  him  on  the  evils  of  gambling,  till  the  lat- 
ter was  ashamed  to  let  him  know  that  he  knew 
how  to  shuffle  a  card. 

One  day  Bynington  walked  into  Viebrasit's  store 
and  they  had  quite  an  argument  over  the  best 
methods  to  persue  in  order  to  put  a  stop  to  the 
liquor  traffic. 

"I  tell  you  it  is  no  use,  the  saloons  must  be 
rooted  out,"  said  Mr.  Viebrasit,  warming  up  to  his 
subject.  "Look  at  the  crime  and  misery  they  are 
causing  ?  A  man  who  goes  into  one  of  those  dens 

27 


114       A  CHANGE  WITH     THE  SEASONS 

of  iniquity  and  pours  a  lot  of  alcoholic  poison 
down  his  throat  is  destroying  his  body  and 
ruining  his  business. 

"Look  at  the  effects  of  it  on  every  hand  ? 
t      "See  the  old  drunks  on  the  streets,  begging  for 
something  to  eat? 

"What  made  them  so  ? 

"What  made  them  so,  I  say  ? 

"They  are  going  to  ruin,  ruin,  ruin !" — as  he 
hammered  the  counter  with  his  fists. 

"I  tell  you  1  am  not  going  to  rest  until  I  see 
the  liquor  business  stopped,  entirely — entirely!" 

"How  are  you  going  to  stop  it?"  ventured 
Bynington,  quizzically. 

"Put  the  license  up  so  high  that  they  cannot 
afford  to  sell  it;  or  pass  laws  to  stop  the  manu- 
facture altogether. 

•'I  tell  you  the  time  is  coming  when  there  will 
be  no  liquor  sold  in  this  country,  or  no  gambling 
either.  It  must  come. 

"The  end  of  whiskey  selling  is  coming — sure!" 
as  he  excused  himself  out  of  the  store,  and  told 
his  side-headed  clerk  that  he  had  some  important 
business  up  town. 

"Yes,  it  is,  like  hell,"  said  the  clerk,  as  that 
worthy  brushed  a  year's  accumulation  of  dust  off 
of  a  bolt  of  faded  muslin,  and  rooted  out  some 
unlawfully-stored  deer  skins  that  had  been  fenced 
off  from  the  spectator  by  cobwebs. 

Bynington  walked  out  of  the  store  and  looked 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS      115 

around  the  rain-soaked  street,  and  the  lopped-off 
sidewalks,  and  concluded  that  he  was  not  worth 
reforming,  anyway;  so  he  would  return  to  the 
saloon  and  join  his  intellectual  friends  in  the 
poker  game — which  was  most  always  in  session. 

When  he  entered  the  place  he  was  dumbfounded 
to  see  his  friend  Viebrasit,  not  in  the  poker  game; 
but  seated  at  the  Piute  table,  playing  with  the 
woodchopper,  the  bullwhacker,  the  railroader,  the 
log  driver,  the  blacksmith,  the  butcher  and  the 
butcher's  boy. 

The  Chinaman  and  "nigger"  were  barred.  So 
the  two  last  named  gentlemen  were  watching  the 
game.  The  "Nigger"  relating  to  his  companion 
his  experience  while  in  San  Quentin  prison. 

Piute  is  a  trifling,  petit  larceny  game,  borrowed 
from  the  Indians,  to  demoralize  their  usurpers. 
The  Chinaman  was  barred  from  the  game  because 
he  claimed  to  have  "shlee  paree  takee  the  monee, 
all  the  slamee;"  and  the  "coon"  had  been  thrown  out 
because  he  said  "that's  the  boy!"  and  attempted 
to  take  down  the  "pot"  when  he  only  had  a  queen 
and  jack. 

Mr.  Bynington,  as  we  stated,  was  rather  startled 
to  see  Mr.  Viebrasit  in  the  game,  and  he  looked 
to  see  if  he  did  not  feel  a  little  unnerved,  but  that 
gentleman  was  perfectly  at  ease  and  was  leisurely 
shuffling  the  cards  in  a  way  that  showed  him  to 
be  no  novice  at  the  sport. 


116        A  CHANGE  WITH     THE  SEASONS 

They  turned  up  the  "lowest  for  the  drinks,"  and 
when  Viebrasit  was  asked  what  he  would  take,  he 
answered.  "Whiskey  and  sugar,  of  course." 

Bynington  noticed  that  he  took  a  long  and 
strong  drought  of  it  to;  and  every  time  the  drinks 
were  called  for  that  day  he  took  the  same  old 
"Whiskey  and  sugar,  of  course." 

Our  hero  Bynington  was  no  chicken  by  any 
means,  as  he  had  met  many  queer  people  in  his 
life — and  was  a  little  queer  himself — so  this  in- 
consistency on  the  part  of  his  friend  Viebrasit 
had  very  little  effect  on  his  nervous  system — only 
to  make  him  think  that  much  less  of  humanity — 
and  was  soon  forgotten. 

So  Bynington,  who  only  intended  to  remain  over 
night  in  the  town,  or  a  day  or  two  at  the  utmost, 
found  himself  lingering  there  throughout  the  fall 
and  winter — playing  poker,  talking  temperance 
and  attending  the  dances. 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS      117 


CHAPTER     III. 

The  snow  commenced  to  fall  very  early  that 
winter,  and  kept  a  falling — falling  as  it  knows 
how  only  in  that  Mt.  Shasta  region — just  tumbling 
on  the  ground  in  big  wet  chunks. 

The  railroad  which  wound  around  the  base  of 
Mt.  Shasta,  threatened  to  be  blockaded  early  in 
the  season  and  a  big  rotary  snowplow  was 
brought  up  for  the  purpose  of  1  eeping  it  open. 
And  that  is  how  it  happened  that  Bynington  came 
to  be  a  passenger  one  day  on  the  bi#  plow.  This 
all  happened  a  #ood  many  years  ago,  and  the 
present  inhabitants  were  not  living  here  then. 

It  was  on  a  cold,  snowy  morning,  with  a  dark 
leaden  sky,  and  the  snow  coming  down  in  sulky 
wet  flakes  that  the  rotary  might  have  been  seen 
chawing  the  thick  snow  on  its  way  north  over  the 
bleaK  summit.  It  \\as  trying  to  open  up  the  road 
and  meet  the  south-bound  express,  which  was 
stalled  in  a  bi0  snowdrift  on  the  other  side  of  the 
divide. 
2$ 


118       A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

The  rotary  held  its  way  well,  cut  the  white 
flakes,  tossed  them  in  the  air,  and  finally 
came  up  to  the  blockaded  train  puffing  like 
a  lion.  The  Superintendent  of  the  road,  who  had 
charge  of  the  operations,  soon  saw  the  helpless- 
ness of  moving  the  train  load  of  passengers  with- 
out assistance  of  a  gang  of  snow  shovelers,  as  the 
heavy  fall  had  beaten  in  around  the  sides  of  the 
cars,  closed  up  the  windows  and  had  the  poor 
train  completely  in  its  possession,  to  buffet  with  at 
will.  It  was  at  the  mercy  of  the  elements,  help- 
lessly covered  up  in  the  drift  and  one  could 
almost  walk  across  the  top  of  the  coaches  on  the 
snow. 

The  passengers  looked  famished,  and  the  wood 
was  giving  out;  but  there  was  nothing  to  be  done, 
unless  they  turn  cannibals  and  draw  lots  to  see 
who  they  feed  upon  first. 

The  rotary  could  do  nothing  but  go  back  the 
way  it  came  before  the  snow  got  deep  enough  to 
blockade  it  in  the  cut. 

Just  as  the  plow  was  about  to  return  and  beat 
its  way  south  Bynington  noticed  a  familiar  face  at 
one  of  the  Pullman  car  windows,  and  to  his  utter 
surprise  and  astonishment,  on  going  into  the 
coach,  he  ran  against  his  old  friends. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Aregave. 

"Well!" — well — they  were  all  too  much  sur- 
prised to  speak.  But  Bynington  had  managed  to 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS      119 

exclaim  "Well!"    to  the  lady,  as  they  recognized 
each  other  at  a  glance. 

"Well!" — said  Bynington,  clasping  her  extend- 
ed hand, — where  in  the  world  did  you  come 
from?" 

"I  might  ask  that  question  of  you,"  answered 
the  lady.  "Mr.  Aregave !"  and  the  old  gentleman 
noticed  that  some  one  was  talking  to  his  wife, 
when  she  called  his  attention. 

His  thoughts  were  entirely  wrapped  up  in  him- 
self and  how  he  was  to  get  out  of  the  fierce 
elements. 

Bynington  and  the  sage  of  mortgages  shook  hands 
as  cordially  as  two  gentlemen  should,  after  a  long 
separation.  They  always  had  been  good  friends 
anyway.  The  former  noticed  that  the  grave  person 
of  wealth  had  materially  aged  since  he  saw  him 
last.  He  was  not  inclined  to  be  pleasant,  but  said 
he  would  rather  lose  twelve  per  cent  of  his  entire 
wealth  than  be  caught  in  this  infernal  snowstorm. 
And  he  muttered  "twelve  per-cent — twelve  per- 
cent"— to  bine  self,  as  he  looked  out  the  window 
where  an  eddying  blast  had  blown  away  the  snow 
and  left  a  visible  opening  over  the  white  face  of 
nature. 

Bynington  turned  his  attention  to  the  beautiful 
Nina,  who  looked  as  radiant  and  lovely  as  ever, 
though  a  little  more  filled  out  and  matronly. 

He  explained  in  a  few  hurried  words   bow   he 


120       A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

came  up  there  OD  the  snowplow  and  was  about  to 
return. 

"And  are  we  going  through  Mr.  Bynington?" 
she  inquired  anxiously.  For  a  real  dread  had  al- 
ready settled  down  on  the  passengers,  as  to  the 
outcome  of  their  fates. 

"I  am  sorry  to  tell  you  Mrs.  Aregave  that  there 
is  great  danger  regarding  this  train  getting  out  of 
here  for  some  time,  but  you  had  better  accompany 
us.  I  can  make  arrangements  with  the  railroad 
people  for  you  and  your  husband  to  come  down 
on  the  plow  to  where  there  is  a  hotel  and  good 
accommodations,"  said  he,  "and  I  know  it  is  the 
best  thing  you  can  do,  as  this  train  may  not  get 
out  of  here  for  a  week." 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  proposition?"  she 
said,  drawing  her  husband's  attention  to  the 
matter. 

"Oh,  going  down  on  a  snowplow,  when  I've 
paid  my  fare  for  a  Pullman  ! — What  for  ?"  he  de- 
manded angerly. 

"Well,  your  Pullman  and  fare  may  b  >th  be  here 
till  spring,"  retorted  Mr.  Bynington.  "This  tram 
cannot  be  moved  until  they  get  men  here  to 
shovel  it  out." 

"And  why  do  they  not  get  the  men  ?"  asked  Mr. 
Aregave. 

"Because  there  are  no  men  or  shovels  within  a 
hundred  miles  of  us/'  he  responded,  "and  if  it 


A  CHANGE   WITH  THE  SEASONS      121 

snows  all  day  and  to-mght  this  train  will  be  buried 
so  far  out  of  sight  that  a  coyote  will  not  be  able  to 
see  an  object  to  bark  at  in  the  morning.  But 
if  you  would  condescend  to  take  passage  with  us 
on  the  rotary,  a  run  of  fifteen  or  twenty  miles  will 
put  us  down  in  the  sheltered  canyon,  where  there 
is  as  cozy  a  little  hotel  as  one  would  wish  to  stop 
at  in  stormy  weather  like  this. " 

"O,  let  us  go,  by  all  means,  Mr.  Aregave !"  cried 
his  wife,  anxious  for  the  excitement  and  the  trip. 

"Not  I,"  answered  the  capitalist,  gravely. 
"Haven't  I  paid  my  money  to  the  railroad  ? — my 
money ! — then  want  me  to  ride  on  an  engine— I'll 
see  them  damned  first.  This  is  what  I  get  by 
paying  extra  fare  and  coming  around^  by  the 
northern  route  I"  and  he  rubbed  his  hands  and 
growled  about  paying  out  extra  money. 

"O,  then  we  will  stay,  if  we  perish!"  sighed  the 
fair  lady,  as  she  settled  down  in  her  seat. 

"We  are  going  on  the  plow !"  announced  & 
passenger  known  as  Mr.  Snowdown,  who  was 
traveling  with  his  wife  and  wife's  sister.  "Come 
along  Mrs. .Aregave,  it  will  be  fun.  You  had 
better  come  too  Col.,"  nodding  to  the  aged, 
capitalist. 

"Me  go?  That's  what  the  railroad  company 
would  like, "  replied  Mr.  Aregave,  angerly.  "Pay 
out  my  good,  hard  money  for  railroad  fare  and 
then  ride  in  a  barn.  If  I  had  known  the  cars 

29 


122       A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

couldn't  haul  me  I'd  saved  my  fare  and  walked. 
Bad  seat  to  'em  !" 

"Well,  my  wife  and  wife's  sister  and  I  are 
going,"  said  the  Snowdown  man,  "and  if  you 
won't  come  you  had  better  let  your  wife  accom- 
pany the  ladies." 

"She  can  go,  if  she  wants  too,"  he  replied,  more 
benignantly,  "but  for  myself  they  will  either  carry 
me  on  this  train  or  refund  my  money." 

"I  will  remain  here  too,  of  course,"  said  his 
wife,  looking  very  forlorn.  "If  we  perish  in  the 
storm  I  suppose  it  is  no  great  matter  anyway." 

"No,  you  go  along  with  the  other  women.  I've 
paid  your  fare  to  San  Francisco,  and  it  won't  cost 
no  more.  There's  a  hotel  under  the  hill  and  the 
price  isn't  high — I  know  the  place  well.  Wrap 
yourself  in  furg  and  be  gone." 

"I  would  rather  not  go  without  you,"  answered 
his  wife. 

"Yes,  you  will.  You  would  be  fidgeting  all  night 
if  you  stayed,  now  you  have  the  notion  of  it." 

So  after  some  explanations  from  Bynington  and 
the  local  manager  of  the  railroad,  and  the  assur- 
ance of  Mr.  Snowdown,  his  wife  and  wife's  sister, 
that  they  would  take  especial  care  of  Mrs.  Are- 
gave  and  see  that  no  harm  befell  her,  that  lady 
consented  to  hazard  the  trip  without  her  husband 
being  one  of  the  party.  The  old  capitalist  would 
stay  by  the  train  and  get  the  worth  of  his  money 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS      123 

and  the  wife  would  journey  through  the  storm 
under  the  protection  of  Bynington,  Mr.  Snow- 
down,  his  wife  and  wife's  sister.  It  was  only  a 
few  hours  separation,  a  trifling  incident,  but  this 
incident  rought  a  great  change  in  all  their  lives. 

I  do  not  approve  of  a  married  lady  going  any- 
where with  a  man  without  her  husband  being  one 
of  the  party,  even  if  there  were  other  females 
along,  because  it  might  lead  to  trouble,  or  all 
sorts  of  complications,  but  Mr.  Aregave  did  not 
think  so,  and  Ben  Bynington  and  the  rest  of  the 
party  did  not  care. 

For  the  ride  in  the  wabbly  snowplow  Mr.  Are- 
gave made  his  wife  wrap  herself  in  furs  until  she 
resembled  a  big  haystack.  He  had  been  investing 
some  of  his  "twelve  per  cent"  in  costly  furs  dur- 
ing the  trip  and  kept  them  by  him  in  the  coach. 
When  he  had  put  around  her  all  that  she  could 
possibly  stand  up  under  he  made  Bynington  take 
a  great  bearskin  coat  of  his  that  had  been  made 
in  Dakota,  to  stand  between  the  wearer  and  a 
blizzard,  and  which  he  had  thoughtfully  purchased 
on  his  way  West.  This  thoughtfulness  on  the 
part  of  Mr.  Aregave  come  in  very  handy  later  in 
the  day — but  of  this  we  will  not  speak  now. 

So,  when  she  was  all  muffled  up  and  ready  to  be 
removed  from  the  comfortable  coach  of  Marquis  de 
Pullman  into  the  snow-eating  pine  box  of  the 
Southern  Pacific  Co.,  she  felt  a  great  misgiving, 


124       A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

and  declared  she  would  not  go  unless  her  husband 
was  by  her  side. 

The  tremendousness  of  the  undertaking  seemed 
to  have  come  over  her  all  at  once;  and  what  ap- 
peared to  be  a  mere  trifling  matter  a  moment  ago 
now  stood  out  in  her  vision  as  being  the  most 
momentous  occurrence  of  her  life.  She  turned  to 
her  husband  and  really  begged  him  to  let  her  stay 
where  she  was;  but  the  gods  seemed  to  have 
driven  him  mad  for  his  own  destruction. 

He  turned  and  pushed  her  forcibly  along  to  the 
snowplow.     Handed  her  from  his   protection  into 
the  hands — yea,  into  the  arms — of  Bynington ! 
The  whistle  screamed  toot !  toot ! ! 
The  huge  machinery  began  to  move  ! 
The  drive  wheels  danced  around  on    the    track; 
and   the  great   old   box   of   machinery,    with    its 
whirling    head    of    plated    steel    went   plunging 
through  the  drifts  of  snow  headed  for  the  Sacra- 
mento canyon. 

Bynington  stood  beside  the  woman  whom  the 
husband  had  intrusted  to  his  care,  and  looked  very 
serious.'  Perhaps  debating  whether  he  should  or 
should  not  have  been  instrumental  in  inducing  her 
to  make  this  trip.  It  was  evident  that  the  Snow- 
downs  intended  to  leave  her  in  his  hands,  and  he 
did  not  know  the  woman  or  know,  himself.  He 
had  gone  up  the  road  to  see  a  snowplow  in 
action,  and  here  he  was  returning  with  the  .wo- 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS      125 

man — of  all  women  in  the  world — who  had  been 
in  his  thoughts  for  nearly  a  year,  and  who  he 
imagined  had  been  his  companion  for  countless 
ages. 

Thus  Bynington  stood  reviewing  the  case  in  his 
mind,  the  madam  meanwhile  watching  the  car 
glide  through  the  drifts. 

Those  present  who  recall  the  scene,  say  that  the 
marks  of  genius  were  traceable  in  every  line  of 
his  face,  as  the  thoughts  of  the  mind  played  over 
his  countenance.  His  varying  expression  would 
remind  one  of  the  cold,  austere,  immovable  summit 
of  Mount  Shasta;  the  mighty,  crashing,  tumbling 
of  an  avalanche;  the  mad,  dashing,  plunging  of  a 
cataract;  the  broad,  whirling,  rolling  depth  of  the 
ocean;  the  gentle  rippling  of  a  mountain  stream; 
the  rustling  of  the  green  grass  and  blooming 
flowers;  the  sweet,  surprised  smile  on  the  face  of 
the  babe,  when  its  eyes  first  meet  the  rising  sun; 
the  calm,  joyful  look  of  lovers  by  the  fireside;  and 
the  solemn  dropping  of  earth  upon  the  coffin  lid. 

His  face  seemed  to  express  all  these  wonderful 
changes.  The  rapid  movement  of  the  car  was  a 
glacier  (which  moves  a  mile  a  century)  compared 
with  the  thoughts  of  this  man,  traveling  down  the 
mountain  with  the  woman  he  had  been  dreaming 
about  every  night  for  the  past  six  months,  and 
whom  he  had  accidently  picked  up  in  a  snow-storm. 

He  had  never  formed  a  wish  to  win   her   affec- 


tHITBRSITY 


126       A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

tions  from  her  husband,  as  much  as  he  admired 
her,  though  he  had  spontaneously  allowed  his 
feelings  to  master  him  in  the  past.  And  he  cer- 
tainly never  dreamed  of  accompanying  her  on  such 
a  peculiar  ride  as  this,  where  she  was  partly  in  his 
keeping,  till  such  time  as  she  could  be  restored  to 
her  legal  spouse;  but  fate  and  chance  had  put  her 
in  his  way  when  he  least  expected  it,  and  we  must 
wait  and  see  how  it  will  end. 

She  was  now  beginning  to  enjoy  the  trip  im- 
mensely. The  novelty  and  excitement  just  suited 
her  fancy,  and  whatever  foreboding  weighed  at 
her  heart  when  she  started  had  now  all  drifted 
away. 

Bynington  was  trying  to  resolve  in  his  mind 
whether  this  trip,  which  seemed  at  first  to  be  a 
trivial  incident,  was  really  a  passing  trifle  in  his 
existence  or  something  momentous. 

Anyway,  it  was  this  trip,  the  accidental  meeting 
of  these  two  people,  who  had  so  passionately 
loved  each  other  in  the  fragrant  summer  less  than 
a  year  ago,  that  caused  this  story  to  be  written. 

The  world  may  blame  the  author  for  giving  the 
history  of  these  children  of  Nature  to  the  public, 
but  why  should  the  public  not  know  the  lives  of 
two  such  interesting  people  (though  they  took 
every  precaution  themselves  to  draw  a  curtain 
between  them  and  the  light  of  publicity)  who 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS      127 

loved  beneath  the  fragrance  of  the  summer  flowers, 
and  in  the  blasts  of  the  winter  snow  ? 

Nina  was  becoming  more  light-hearted  and  jovial 
as  the  train  dashed  through  the  snow  and  made  a 
wider  gap  between  her  and  her  husband.  There 
was  probably  a  reason  for  this,  of  which  her  com- 
panions never  dreamed.  I  stated  a  while  back 
that  she  looked  a  little  more  "matronly"  than  she 
did  the  previous  summer,  but,  as  it  turned  out 
afterwards,  and  as  we  hinted  in  the  early  chapters 
of  this  work,  she  was  just  simply  a  young  maiden. 
Mr.  Aregave  had  passed  his  life  accumulating 
money,  at  which  vocation  he  had  many  talents, 
but  he  was  woefully  lacking  in  domestic  relations, 
and  it  would  have  been  better  for  him  had  he  not 
married — better  for  them  both.  She  was  young 
and  vivacious,  neither  stick  nor  stone,  and  prob- 
ably deep  down  in  her  heart  was  pleased  to  be  out 
of  her  wedded  lord's  society.  The  world  lay  be- 
fore her,  and  she  pined  for  a  knowledge  of  its 
mysteries.  A  woman  should  be  loyal  to  her  lord, 
but  our  fair  heroine  had  been  suffering  from  too 
much  loyalty  (to  use  a  modified  expression,  that 
will  not  offend  the  elderly  ladies  or  the  clergy). 

I  am  one  of  those  who  always  write  chaste  liter- 
ature and  would  not  give  offense  to  anybody  for 
the  world;  but  in  the  morally-/^/  kind  of  writing 
(such  as  this  work  is)  I  do  not  believe  in  fencing 
around  the  facts,  or  hiding  an  important  part  of 


128       A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

my  subject,  such  as  (what  they  call)  "clean" 
writers  do.  I  hope  I  will  never  be  known  as  a 
"clean"  writer,  because  that  is  a  word  used  to 
shelter  dullness. 

Here  I  will  bring  this  chapter  to  a  close  and 
start  another,  and  what  may  happen  before  I  get 
through  with  that,  heaven  only  knows.  In  the 
meantime  the  clergy  or  the  laity,  matron  or  maid 
can  rest  assured  that  it  is  good  for  them  to  read 
or  I  would  not  be  writing  it. 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS      129 


CHAPTER     IV. 

After  the  rotary  had  dashed  along  over  the 
frozen  rails  for  a  distance  of  eight  or  ten  miles,  it 
brought  up  all  standing  against  a  pile  of  rock  and 
dirt,  which  had  slid  down  on  the  track.  It  was 
what  the  railroad  people  call  a  "slide,"  and  along 
the  mountain  side,  where  this  road  winds  its 
crooked  course,  these  slides  are  of  frequent  oc- 
currence in  the  wet  season  and  cause  the  wreck  of 
many  a  train. 

The  plow  dashed  right  in  it  without  any  warn- 
ing and  the  passengers  were  thrown  from  their 
feet,  though  nobody  was  injured  but  the  engine, 
and  it  being  constructed  of  steel  it  didn't  mind 
the  jar  much.  ' 

When  they  picked  themselves  up  they  found 
their  old  car  lying  against  the  snow-bank. 

"And  here  we  are,"  says  Bynington. 

"Yes!  here  we  are,"  re-echoed  the  Superintend- 
ent, who  went  out  to  investigate  the  wreck.  "We 
will  get  down  in  no  canyon  to-night,"  he  said  re- 
al 


130        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

turning  to  the  car  door,  "unless  we  walk,  as 
traffic  is  now  suspended  from  both  ends  on  this 
division  of  the  Southern  Pacific  Kailroad  Com- 
pany of  Kentucky. 

Bynington  went  out  to  reconnoiter,  and  assist- 
ed his  female  companion  out  of  the  wreck  and  up 
on  the  snow-bank,  (which  had  been  piled  up 
by  the  rotary  on  each  side  of  the  track  to  a  height 
of  ten  feet)  and  where  they  could  take  in  the  situ- 
ation and  view  the  surrounding  country.  Mr- 
Snowdown  also  assisted  out  his  wife  and  wife's 
sister,  and  they  discussed  the  next  best  plan  of 
action. 

"While  it  is  about  ten  miles  around  by  the  rail- 
road to  this  hotel  in  the  canyon,  I  spoke  of,"  ex- 
plained Mr.  Bynington,  "it  is  only  a  mile  or  two 
down  through  the  woods  from  where  we  stand, 
and  by  the  hardness  of  the  crust  I  believe  it 
would  bear  us  quite  easity.  Suppose  we  cut 
across  through  the  timber  and  down  the  mountain 
side?" 

"I  am  willing,  if  you  think  it  safe/'  said  Nina, 
looking  at  him  confidentially. 

"When  we  get  to  where  the  hill  is  steep  I  will 
haul  you  on  the  gentleman's  fur  coat,"  he  said, 
producing  the  garment  presented  by  her  lord. 

"That  will  be  great  sport,"  she  answered  smil- 
ing in  a  way  that  showed  she  had  entire  trust  in 
her  escort. 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS      131 

"I  presume  we  can  all  go  that  way,"  said  Mr. 
Snowdown 

"Why,  certainly,"  said  Mr.  Bynington.  "We 
will  have  to  keep  together.  The  Superintendent 
might  come  also  to  help  assist  the  ladies  over  the 
drifts. 

"That  I  will,"  said  that  functionary  of  the  big 
railroad  system. 

So  they  started  down  the  mountain  side  on  a 
trip  that  would  have  struck  awe  in  the  heart  of  a 
mountaineer  mail-carrier  under  such  circumstances, 
but  our  friends  considered  it  a  lark. 

Bynington  gathered  up  all  the  madam's 
superfluous  furs  and  wraps,  and  the  two  of  them 
were  the  last  to  take  leave  of  the  train  crew. 

The  crust  of  snow  was  frozen  hard  enough  to 
sustain  a  persDn's  weight,  so  the  wayfarers  made 
good  time  down  the  hill  till  they  reached  the 
thick  timber,  there  the  snow  was  quite  soft  and 
they  would  sink  two  or  three  feet  at  every  step. 
In  fact  they  soon  found  locomotion  impeded  and 
nearly  blocked  altogether. 

The  Superintendent  took  the  lead  and  lent  his 
assistance  to  Mr.  Snowdown's  wife's  sister,  and  in 
regular  rotation,  like  a  flock  of  sheep,  came  Mr. 
Snowdown,  his  wife,  Mr.  Bynington  and  his 
friend's  wife.  WTheu  the  traveling  became 
laborious  the  latter  gentleman  spread  his  friend's 
big  coat  on  the  snow  and  sat  his  fair  companion 


132       A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

on  the  same,  thinking  he  could  thereby  transport 
her  down  the  hill,  but  he  might  as  well  try  to 
drag  the  five  or  six  feet  of  snow,  as  the  mushy 
nature  of  that  element  prevented  any  sleighing. 
And  to  make  matters  worse  it  was  nearly  ni^ht 
and  a  new  storm  had  set  in.  The  dark,  lowering 
clouds  which  hung  athwart  the  horizon  all  day 
had  broken  loose,  and  it  was  falling  as  it  only 
knows  how  in  that  region — at  the  rate  of  an  inch 
a  minute,  or  faster.  It  came  down  so  thick  that 
it  was  blinding  to  look  at  it.  One's  garments 
would  be  weighted  down  with  the  wet  mass 
quicker  than  he  could  shake  it  off.  It  was  falling 
so  thick  among  the  trees  that  it  brought  great 
branches  down  with  it,  and  the  trees  held  up 
their  battered  stumps  like  an  army  in  distress. 

If  anything  would  tend  to  confuse  a  traveler  it 
is  a  storm  like  this.  No  where  in  the  world  does 
it  snow  like  in  the  Sierra  Nevadas,  and  in  no  part 
of  the  Sierra  Nevadas  can  it  come  down  in  such 
chunks  as  up  near  Mount  Shasta,  where  these 
traveler!  were  now  "stalled:"  and  this  storm  hap- 
pened to  be  the  most  severe  ever  known  to  the 
white  settlers  of  that  region.  To  sum  it  up,  it 
was  something  dreadful,  and  that  does  not  half 
express  it. 

The  weather  was  not  very  cold  (as  one  thinks  of 
that  word  in  the  far  north)  because  it  is  not  a 
frosty  climate,  but  a  snowy  one — Jupiter ! 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS      133 

It  was  a  strong  heart,  indeed,  that  could  face 
such  a  storm,  and  having  no  place  to  take  shelter, 
but  in  the  dreary  woods,  where  the  trees  seemed 
to  be  in  need  of  protection  themselves.  Our 
travelers  were  beginning  to  feel  somewhat  alarmed. 
The  greatest  difficulty  they  found  was  to  keep 
together.  The  snow  came  down  so  fast  that  one's 
tracks  would  be  immediately  obliterated,  and  the 
darkness  was  becoming  so  dense  that  one  could 
not  see  his  neighbor  three  feet  away.  In  a  snow 
of  this  kind  a  person  could  not  look  at  any  object, 
because  of  injury  to  the  eyes. 

Mrs.  Aregave  was  becoming  alarmed,  and  would 
throw  away  her  wraps  and  plunge  recklessly  in 
the  snow,  like  one  bewildered.  Bynington  had 
waited  for  her,  but  they  had  lost  sight  of  the  rest 
of  the  party.  The  other  women  seemed  to  be  able 
to  travel  in  the  snow  alright.  Mr.  Snowdown'8 
sister-in-law  displayed  as  much  fortitude  as  any  of 
her  male  companions  and  breasted  the  storm  like 
a  wild  goose. 

But  Nina  would  not  undertake  to  walk  through 
it,  so  she  and  Bynington  wasted  valuable  time 
struggling  around  in  the  snow  without  making 
any  headway.  He  could  not  carry  her,  and  about 
all  he  could  do  was  to  urge  her  follow  in  his  foot- 
steps. H  understood  the  country  and  knew  he 
could  take  care  of  her,  even  if  they  were  out  in 

•a 


134       A  CHANGE   WITH  THE  SEASONS 

the  elements  all  night.  At  least  he  would  make 
a  desperate  effort  at  trying,  as  he  was  a  wonder- 
fully strong  character  under  difficulties  and  when 
in  the  presence  of  danger.  He  now  collected  all 
his  wits.  He  had  become  lost  from  the  others,  but 
the  idea  of  him  losing  his  head  at  such  a  time  was 
out  of  the  question.  He  almost  felt  strong 
enough  to  match  his  will  against  the  Fates.  The 
greater  the  danger  the  stronger  would  he  brace 
his  nerves,  and  the  more  rapidly  think. 

Besides  he  had  more  than  his  own  welfare  to 
look  after  now.  Another  man's  wife  had  been 
turned  over  to  his  care,  and  he  had  led  her  into 
all  this  danger. 

He  tried  to  beat  a  path  for  her  to  walk  in,  but 
it  was  tedious  work.  The  snow-covered  trees  and 
mountains  had  become  wrapped  in  the  densest 
darkness,  and  the  storm  was  raging  upon  them  in 
its  wildest  fury.  It  was  a  time  when  the  bravest 
individual  might  well  begin  to  quake.  If  the 
other  women  had  kept  up  the  gait  they  were  mak- 
ing when  he  last  saw  them  they  were  out  of  the 
storm  by  this  time. 

Mrs.  Aregave  throughout  this  ordeal  had  utter- 
ed no  complaint,  but  she  had  allowed  herself  to 
become  dismayed  by  the  storm  and  was  now 
entirely  exhausted.  In  fact  she  had  reached  the 
end  of  endurance.  She  discarded  all  her  super- 
fluous clothing  and  plunged  into  the  snow  any- 


A  CHANGE   WITH  THE  SEASOiMS      135 

where.  He  picked  her  up  in  his  arms  and  she  lay 
like  a  child. 

To  carry  her  was  out  of  the  question,  because 
it  only  sunk  him  under  the  snow,  and  he  did  not 
know  what  direction  to  take  himself.  So  he 
wrapped  the  garments  about  her  and  asked  her  to 
remain  still  while  he  beat  out  a  path  and  looked 
around  a  little  for  bearings. 

He  tramped  around  among  the  trees,  and  finally 
made  out  what  looked  to  be  a  bank  of  something 
— a  ridge,  knoll  or  big  rock — which  under  a  closer 
examination  turned  out  to  be  a  cabin,  or  wood- 
man's hut;  the  roof  of  which  was  just  above  the 
snow. 

He  beat  around  it  and  dug  the  snow  away  until 
he  found  a  door,  which  he  bursted  open  and 
tumbled  inside. 

He  did  not  wait  to  examine  it,  knowing  it 
would  do  for  a  shelter,  and  thinking  it  would  be  the 
only  haven  of  refuge  they  would  find  that  night, 
hastened  back  to  find  his  companion. 

He  retraced  his  steps;  but  when  he  reached  the 
place  where  he  had  left  her  he  found  nothing  but 
the  bundle  of  clothing:  the  millionaire's  wife  had 
gone. 

Had  she  found  the  other  travelers  ? 

The  thoughts  of  losing  the  girl  in  the  river  the 
summer  previous  come  into  his  mind,  and  he 
wondered  if  this  would  not  be  a  similar  tragedy. 


136       A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

He  came  near  going  wild  himself  at  the  thoughts 
of  it. 

"Do  women  realty  slip  through  my  fingers  and 
disappear  like  a  phantom  ?"  he  cried  to  the  bleak 
elements.  And  indeed  that  really  seemed  to  be 
one  of  his  fatalities. 

"If  she  should  die  in  the  storm !" 

The  storm  was  sweeping  down  with  such  fury; 
the  night^was  so  dark  and  cold;  and  the  blinding 
snow  was  dashing  against  his  eyes  with  such 
force,  that  it  seemed  almost  impossible  to  trace 
her  steps.  In  fact  the  snow  was  falling  so  fast 
it  would  fill  up  a  track  before  the  foot  was  out  of 
it. 

He  listened,  but  could  hear  no  sound,  save  the 
storm  roaring  through  the  trees,  and  the  branches 
moaning  beneath  the  weight  of  snow. 

White  bodies,  sometimes  larger  than  a  man,  and 
of  all  shapes,  seemed  to  be  coming  down -with  the 
storm  and  floating  before  his  eyes.  Some  of 
them  would  march  up  to  his  face,  slashing  at  one- 
another  like  an  army  of  soldiers  (or  demons)  in 
battle;  then  they  would  whirl  off  and  go  driving 
before  the  wind,  while  a  new  regiment  would 
come  slanting  down  towards  him,  and  float  off 
after  the  others. 

"Ye  imps!"  he  cried,  "have  ye  stolen  my  lady 
from  my  side  and  are  ye  now  fighting  over  her  ? 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS      137 

or  is  she  buried  in  the  snow  and  ye  trying  to  hide 
her  from  my  sight? 

"O,  ye  creatures  of  the  blast!" 

He  gathered  up  the  furs  she  had  discarded  and 
started  down  the  mountain  in  the  direction  of  the 
least  resistance,  crying  in  the  anguish  of  his  heart: 
"Just  let  me  find  that  woman  and  save  her  life  and 
it  is  the  only  favor  I  will  ever  ask  of  heaven  or 
earth. 

"O  Thou  who  rules  the  storm ! 

"Who  casts  these  elements  in  angry  fury  down  ! 

"And  rises  one  to  batter  on  the  other  ! 

"Guide  thou  my  steps  to  find  my  love,  and  I 
will  bare  myself  to  the  icy  blast  till  the  very  crea- 
tures of  the  storm  beat  themselves  to  pieces 
against  my  person ! 

"Yea,  I  will  battle  with  the  elements,  and  force 
these  fierce  clouds  back  ! 

"Take  me  out  of  the  snow  and  let  us  die  to- 
gether!" came  a  voice  from  under  his  feet. 

And  the  first  thing  he  knew  he  tripped  against 
her  body,  which  was  buried  out  of  sight,  and 
rolled  awkwardly  over  it;  more  comical  than 
pathetic,  which  knocked  his  poetic  sentiments  in- 
to a  cocked  hat. 

It  is  bad  to  spoil  a  pretty  sentiment  by  falling 
over  it;  but  we  are  such  clumsy  mortal  things 
after  all,  and  it  is  hard  to  always  act  the  hero  in 
a  snow-storm. 

33 


138       A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

But  he  did  pick  her  up  out  of  the  snow  with  all 
the  haste  possible,  and  after  giving  her  a  very 
warm  hug — (which  could  be  pardoned  under  such 
circumstances)  guessed  the  direction  of  the  cabin, 
and  started  for  it  as  well  as  he  knew  how. 

He  soon  found  the  place  again,  thanks  to  his 
wonderful  faculties  for  keeping  track  of  directions 
and  distances.  In  this  he  had  a  better  instinct,  or 
judgment  than  a  carrier  pigeon. 

He  carried  her  inside,  brushed  the  snow  from 
her  clothing,  hugged  her  to  produce  warmth, 
chafed  her  pretty  hands  and  face,  called  her  all 
the  pet  names  he  could  think  of,  fished  some 
matches  from  his  pocket  and  struck  a  light. 

If  this  had  been  in  ye  olden  times,  when  knights 
picked  up  stray  ladies,  he  would  have  had  the 
devils  own  time  striking  a  flint  and  trying  to  pro- 
duce a  flicker,  but  thanks  to  our  era  of  matches,  a 
gentleman  can  produce  a  light  any  time  he  wants  to. 

He  saw  some  dry  sticks  of  wood  by  a  little 
rock  fireplace,  which  he  soon  ignited,  and  had  a 
blaze  roaring  out  the  chimney  in  no  time. 

He  sat  his  lady  down  by  the  fire,  and  then  ran 
out  and  hunted  up  her  lost  furs,  as  he  was 
bound  to  keep  their  wardrobe  intact.  It  was  a 
cold  night  and  they  needed  all  the  clothing  they 
could  get. 

When  he  returned  he  took  time  to  look  around 
the  establishment  to  see  what  kind  of  an  abode 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS      139 

they  had  taken  possession  of.  It  proved  to  be 
quite  a  cozy  affair.  In  fact  he  had  heard  of  this 
very  cabin,  as  it  had  been  occupied  the  past  sum- 
mer by  quite  a  conspicuous  character,  and  was 
just  in  the  shape  he  left  it  a  few  months  before; 
even  to  having  a  pile  of  dry  wood  in  the  house. 

There  was  the  wood  stacked  up  by  the  chimney; 
an  improvised  table  holding  the  place  of  honor  in 
the  center  of  the  room;  a  couple  of  nice  little 
rough-wood  seats;  a  comfortable  looking  bunk, 
made  of  poles  and  boards,  and  covered  with  a 
soft  layer  of  pine  needles,  which  the  conspicuous 
character  had  gathered  at  his  leisure  to  make  a 
soft  couch  to  lie  on,  while  he  studied  the  works 
of  the  old  Mahatmas  from  the  Himalayas. 

This  conspicuous  character,  who  left  this 
hermitage  to  furnish  a  shelter  for  our  two 
bewildered  friends,  had  used  it  as  a  place  of 
retirement,  in  which  to  study  the  mysteries  of  the 
thaumaturgic  skill  revealed  by  Koot  Hoomi  and 
Madame  Blavatsky.  He  was  trying  to  fathom  the 
works  of  those  two  great  adepts,  who  could  pick 
up  a  material  object  and  disintegrate  it  by  some 
mystic  process,  pass  it  through  other  matter  and 
restore  it  to  its  original  solidity  a  thousand  miles 
away.  He  was  studying  occult  Buddhism,  on 
what  he  pleased  to  call  "the  higher  plane,"  and 
expected  at  some  day  to  blossom  out  a  full-fledged 
Ego  (after  he  had  gone  through  two  or  three 


140       A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

hundred  reincarnations)  when  the  spiritual  entity 
would  be  broken  loose  forever  from  every  particle 
of  matter,  then  he  would  be  ready  to  flit  away  to 
the  beautiful  and  dreamless  Nirvana  of  Buddha. 

So  he  had  flitted  away  and  left  this  cabin  closed 
in  all  the  glory  of  spirituality  and  mysticism,  till 
it  was  opened  by  our  two  very  material  and  human 
friends. 

In  fact  it  pains  me  to  think  they  were  so  human. 
I  would  like  to  have  had  them  more  divine. 

It  was  old  Cicero  who  said  "to  err  is  human." 
He  discovered  that  sublime  truth  a  long  time 
ago.  The  best  people  in  the  world  are  liable  to 
err;  the  disagreeable,  inhuman,  old  dried  up  ones, 
never.  They  are  too  mean  to  err. 

But  our  two  friends,  with  all  their  humanity, 
seemed  to  have  a  large  share  of  the  spirituality 
and  mysticism  of  Koot  Hoomi,  so  it  might  have 
been  the  occult  power  left  in  the  woods  by  this 
disciple  of  the  Brotherhood  of  Adepts  in  Thibet, 
that  attracted  our  friends  to  the  retreat. 

As  the  reader  will  remember,  they  had  been  at- 
tracted to  each  other  very  mysteriously  from  their 
first  meeting,  and  she  never  has  shown  the  least 
resistance  to  this  man,  which  the  prudish  reader 
may  condemn,  as  being  a  fault  of  the  writer;  but 
it  was  an  inborn  essence  of  her  composition. 

Anyway  they  were  fast  becoming  warm  and 
comfortable.  The  fire  was  blazing  cheerfully  on 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS      141 

the  hearth,  lighting  up  the  small  room  in  mellow 
splendor.  Bynington  laid  his  furs  on  the 
Mahatma's  bunk  and  looked  to  the  welfare  of  his 
companion.  He  helped  her  remove  her  over- 
shoes, likewise  her  shoes  and  stockings — as  the 
snow  had  wet  through  at  her  ankles. 

My  dear  reader  may  think  it  is  going  too  far  for 
a  young  man  to  remove  the  stockings  of  another 
man's  wife;  but,  as  I  hinted  above,  she  was  not  ex- 
actly a  wife,  and  then  this  was  a  very  strange 
case.  It  is  seldom  you  hear  of  such  respectable 
people  getting  lost  in  a  snow-storm  and  bringing 
up  in  a  cozy  hut  when  they  were  about  to  perish. 
I  would  not,  for  the  world,  set  down  aught 
against  these  people  that  was  not  scriptural  truth- 

They  were  both  glad  to  be  in  out  of  the  storm, 
and  nestled  up  to  the  fire.  The  warmth  was  act- 
ing as  a  stimulant  to  her  nerves,  and  being  young 
and  healthy,  she  was  fast  recuperating  from  the 
fatigue.  He  sat  down  by  her  side  while  she 
toasted  the  cold,  damp  extremities  before  the  fire, 
and  he  did  the  same  with  his.  She  might  have 
covered  up  her  ankles,  but  she  did  not  have  the 
will  just  then.  So  they  toasted  their  limts  to- 
gether, and  what  pretty  limbs  she  had ! 

Those  ankles  bare  and — not  brown ! 

In  the  summer  time  gone  by,  Ben  Bynington 
had  been  thinking  how  pretty  they  must  be;  but 

34 


142       A  CHARGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

now  he  saw  that  they  would  make  an  artist  or  a 
poet  go  crazy. 

Of  course  those  infernal  artists  and  poets  are 
liable  to  go  into  hysterics  over  anything  pretty; 
and  L  know  the  pious  reader  is  not  attracted  that 
way — but  to  proceed. 

They  wondered  what  had  become  of  their  com- 
panions. 

"If  we  had  known  this  cabin  was  here,"  said 
she,  "we  might  have  all  taken  shelter  for  the 
night." 

"I  think  they  have  managed  to  reach  the 
settlement,"  he  replied. 

"They  were  selfish  in  not  waiting  for  us,  any- 
way." 

"They  were  presumably  looking  out  for  them- 
selves." 

"It  would  have  been  so  much  better  if  we 
could  have  all  kept  together." 

"Yes.     I  tried  to  keep  up  with  them." 

After  quite  a  toasting  he  brought  a  rug  left  by 
the  disciple  of  Buddha,  and  spread  on  the  hearth 
beneath  her  feet. 

He  seated  himself  by  her  side  again,  poked  up 
the  fire,  and  they  chatted  as  comfortably  as  two 
innocent  schoolchildren;  toasting  their  feet  before 
the  fire,  sticking  their  toes  in  the  warm  ashes, 
gazing  dreamingly  at  the  crackling  embers,  and 
occasionally  stealing  a  glance  into  each  other's  eyes. 


A  CHANGE   WITH  THE  SEASONS      143 

She  had  unloosened  her  hair,  and  those  beau- 
tiful dark  silken  tresses  fell  lovingly  around  her 
graceful  neck  and  shoulders,  and  strayed  over  her 
face,  partly  hiding  the  soft,  lovable  light  that  was 
sparkling  in  her  eyes.  He  could  not  be  blamed  if 
he  pressed  his  bare  foot  against  hers,  or  clasped 
the  little  hand  that  lay  upon  her  knee,  while  they 
listened  to  the  storm  raging  over  the  surrounding 
country. 

They  were  becoming  (in spite  of  their  surround- 
ings, and  the  circumstances  of  their  lives)  too 
affectionately  friendly.  So  he  got  up  and  took  a 
new  survey  of  the  Brahman's  abode. 

It  seemed  to  have  been  built  pretty  strong,  but 
whether  it  would  stand  up  under  the  tremendous 
weight  of  snow  that  was  tumbling  haph  zard  on 
the  roof  seemed  doubtful,  and  caused  great 
uneasiness  in  his  mind. 

The  bed,  he  noticed  was  a  delightful  place  for  a 
tired  person  to  repose  his  wtary  limbs  upon. 
They  had  sufficient  wraps  too,  to  make  a  decently 
warm  covering.  The  bunk  had  been  made  for 
one  person,  though  two  small  people  might  rest 
thereon,  providing  they  lay  close  together.  Any- 
way it  was  big  enough  for  a  woman. 

He  fastened  up  the  door,  replenished  the  fire 
and  sat  down  ayain  by  his  companion,  to  help  her 
dream  over  the  red  coals. 

She    was    certainly    the    prettiest     and     most 


144       A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

enticing  picture  that  man  ever  looked  upon,  with 
eyes  of  love,  or  otherwise.  Sitting  now  on  a  coat 
spread  upon  the  floor,  her  shapely  bare  ankles 
stretched  out  upon  the  hearth,  like  she  used  to  sit 
in  summer,  only  now  the  feet  being  naked  were 
taking  on  pink  dimples  from  the  glowing  fire;  the 
skirts  a  little  drawn  up;  the  head  thrown  back, 
resting  against  the  seat,  and  the  pure  red  lips 
partly  opened,  revealing  two  pretty  rows  of  white 
pearls — she  was  all  red  and  white,  and  nature's 
fairest  and  most  bewitching  flower. 

He  brought  one  of  the  furs  and  placed  it  under 
her  head,  that  she  might  rest  in  more  comfort  and 
dream  away  the  pleasant  hours,  without  a  dis- 
agreeable thought. 

Our  hero  would  not  take  advantage  of  another 
man's  wife,  who  had  been  intrusted  to  his  care, 
and  still  he  was  not  made  of  that  kind  of  clay  that 
would  stand  everything.  I  doubt  if  either  of 
them  were  ever  noted  for  their  ability  to  resist 
temptation.  Of  course  she  never  had  any 
temptation  thrown  in  her  way  but  once,  and  then 
she  married,  and  the  outcome  of  that  by  this  time 
must  be  familiar  to  my  readers.  With  the  ex- 
ception of  the  little  episode  last  summer  on  the 
river  bank,  and  that  is  pretty  nearly  forgotten  by 
this  time. 

But  the  two  children  were  now  sitting  here 
Tery  placidly,  dreaming  over  the  red  coals;  they 


A   CHAJNUE   WITH  THE  SEASONS       145 

were  both  warm  and  comfortable,  perhaps  over- 
come by  that  drowsiness,  which  follows  exposure 
to  a  storm;  and  were  taking  no  thought  of  the 
morrow. 

So  he  could  not  resist  taking  hold  of  that  dear 
little  hand  a^ain,  and  watched  the  expressions 
play  over  those  sweet  lips  and  face.  He  was 
dreadfully  in  love.  Was  he  really  enchanted,  and 
this  some  gossamer  fairy  of  the  Arabian  Nights, 
that  would  flit  away  when  he  went  to  touch  her? 
or  was  this  really  and  truly  the  woman  he  loved 
so  dearly,  who  was  seated  by  his  side,  and  re- 
moved from  all  other  human  beings  ?  A  squeeze 
of  her  hand  told  him  it  was  she,  and  he  was  con- 
tent. He  only  had  one  wish,  that  they  could  stay 
there  undisturbed  forever,  and  this  night  would 
extend  away  out  into  eternity. 

And  she  sat  there  dreaming,  as  the  snow  fell  on 
their  little  house.  She  seemed  to  hear  the  flakes 
coming  down  in  regular  beats,  as  though  sounding 
a  chord  of  music,  and  were  playing  a  pretty 
lullaby  of  love  in  her  ears.  The  music  it  made 
could  be  formed  into  words.  First  it  was  the 
cold  dropping  of  the  snow,  then  it  changed  into 
babbling  brooks  and  summer  flowers.  It  was  a 
sweet  tune  and  always  connected  with  love.  It 
ran: 

35 


t  . 


146       A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

We  are  flakes  of  crystal  white, 
Chill'd  on  Shasta's  lofty  height, 
Near  the  heavenly  stars  to-night, 
On  our  sudden  downward  flight! 
Mortal !  Mortal !  made  of  clay ! 
Love  us  ere  we  pass  away. 

We  go  dancing  on  the  hill; 
Kiss  and  flood  the  sparkling  rill, 
As  it  boundeth  with  a  will 
From  Creation's  own  distill. 
Love  us!  Love  us!  while  you  may; 
Ere  we  softly  float  away. 

We  are  not  congealed  at  all, 
But  the  softest  petal  ball 
Grown  in  Eden  ere  the  fall: 
Fragrant  daisies  sweet  and  small 
Mortal !   Mortal !  ere  we  part 
Give  us  lodgment  in  your  heart ! 

We  are  scented  flowers  of  May 
Blooming  by  the  mossy  brae; 
Spreading  dust  of  pollen  spray; 
Stealing  lovers  sighs  away. 
We  will  bide  your  lips  to  kiss, 
Bed  with  love's  attaining  bliss ! 

Mortal !  Mortal !  made  of  clay  I 
Soft  caresses  o'er  you  play ! 
Love  in  raptures  while  you  may, 
Ere  you  fade  and  pass  away. 
Meet  us  at  the  dawn  of  day 
On  Mt.  Zion's  top  to  pray. 

She  was  so  filled  with  the  enchanted  music  that 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS      147 

she  had  to  sing  the  last  stanza  partly  aloud,  and 
cuddled  up  against  her  companion;  stretching  one 
arm  around  him,  and  turning  up  those  red,  rosy 
lips,  which  he  had  longed  to  kiss  so  many  times. 


The  snow  came  down  faster  and  faster.  It  was 
the  preeminent  storm  of  the  season,  indeed.  It 
shook  up  the  sturdy  old  pine  trees  of  the  forest, 
stripped  off  their  smaller  branches  and  left  them 
swaying  to  and  fro  as  if  in  pain;  with  the  snow- 
flakes  falling  from  their  slivered  stumps  like 
frozen  tears,  imploring  the  god  of  storm  to  have 
mercy  on  their  broken  limbs.  It  filled  up  the 
canyon  and  drifted  in  deep  ridges  on  the  moun- 
tain. The  little  cabin,  wherein  our  friends  rested 
oblivious  of  the  fury  of  the  elements  on  the  out- 
side, was  buried  entirely  out  of  sight;  and  if  the 
snow  did  not  stop  up  the  chimney  and  cause  them 
to  be  asphyxiated,  it  would  mash  down  the  roof 
and  crush  them  to  death.  But  they  rested  there 
like  two  ground  squirrels  in  their  winter  nest  and 
heeded  it  not. 

The  other  wayfarers,  whom  we  left  a  few  pages 
back,  had  to  stand  the  full  blunt  of  the  storm. 


148        A  CHANGE  WITH   THE  SEASONS 

The  Superintendent  kept  the  lead,  and  took  the 
hand  of  Mr.  Snowdown's  wife's  sister,  who  was  a 
handsome  young  woman,  and  well  worth  being 
protected  from  such  a  furious  tempest.  They  man- 
aged to  beat  their  way  down  the  mountain  side 
and  reach  the  hotel  in  good  season.  But  Snow- 
down  and  his  wife  had  a  terrible  time  of  it,  and 
would  have  perished,  only  the  Superintendent, 
after  leaving  his  companion  in  security,  gathered 
up  a  few  hardy  mountaineers,  who,  under  his 
guidance,  beat  their  way  up  the  mountain  side, 
where  they  found  the  Snowdowns,  and  rescued 
them  from  a  dreary  death  just  in  the  nick  of 
time.  The  Snowdowns  had  an  experience  they 
would  never  forget,  and  long  rued  the  day  they 
left  the  train  to  cross  a  snowy  mountain  with 
Bynington  and  a  railroad  Superintendent. 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 


CHAPTER     V. 

Morning  finally  broke  on  a  canyon  and  mountain 
side  covered  with  a  dreary  waste  of  snow.  The 
elements  were  still  black  and  threatening,  but  the 
snow  had  ceased  to  fall,  as  though  it  had  snowed 
itself  out  and  was  looking  for  new  material  upon 
which  to  exercise.  The  new  fleece  which  fell  dur- 
ing the  night  must  have  been  at  least  seven  or 
eight  feet  deep. 

Every  inhabitant  in  the  little  towns  and  ham- 
lets were  astir  gophering  themselves  out.  The 
railroad  company  had  received  an  assignment  of 
two  or  three  hundred  snow-shovelers  from  the 
valley  the  day  before  and  had  all  their  plows 
out  bucking  at  the  beautiful  blockading  element. 
The  big  rotary  had  been  shoveled  out  and  was 
whipping  the  snow  right  and  left,  as  it  bore 
around  the  canyon's  edge.  It  would  pick  up 
great  chunks  of  the  stuff,  whirl  it  around  on  its 
nose,  and  toss  it  in  a  steady  stream  twenty  or 

36 


150        A  CHANGE  WITH   THE  SEASONS 

thirty  feet  from  the  track.  All  one  could  see  of 
the  plow  was  a  rainbow  of  snow  in  the  air. 

They  rotated  their  way  up  to  the  stalled  train 
and  shoveled  it  out. 

It  was  during  the  shoveling  out  of  the  train, 
near  noon  next  day,  that  some  of  the  train  crew 
bethought  themselves  to  talk  about  the  lost  pair 
— Bynington  and  his  companion. 

"What  has  become  of  .the  two  foolhardy  indi- 
viduals who  left  us  last  night?"  asked  the  brake- 
man. 

"They  have  certainly  perished,"  authoritively 
declared  the  Superintendent.  "They  did  not 
reach  the  hotel  and  there  is  no  chance  for  them  to 
live  out  of  doors  in  a  storm  like  that  of  last 
night." 

"There  is  an  old  cabin  on  the  hillside  some 
where  near  their  course,"  spoke  up  the  engineer, 
"and  Bynington  is  a  very  shrewd  man  and  more 
nor  likely  took  shelter  there." 

"More  nor  likely  they  didn't,"  said  the  brakey. 

"The  last  I  saw  of  them  they  were  making  very 
poor  headway,"  continued  the  Superintendent, 
"and  I  doubt  if  they  reached  any  shelter.  1  can- 
not understand  why  they  could  not  travel  as  well 
as  the  rest  of  us  " 

"Even  if  he  did  find  that  cabin,"  said  the  brakey^ 
"it  would  be  a  poor  shelter  in  such  a  storm." 

"I  have  seen  the  hut  you  speak  of,"   said   the 


A  CHANGE   WITH  THE  SEASOM3      151 

Superintendent,  "  but  it  is  not  near  the  route  we 
took,  and  the  amount  of  snow  which  fell  last  night 
would  crush  it  to  the  ground.  It  has  caved  in  a 
number  of  stronger  buildings  in  the  same  vicinity." 

'-Yes,  the  Methodist  church  went  down  with  a 
smash-up,  worse  than  two  trains  trying  to  pass  on 
the  same  track,"  chipped  in  the  brakeman. 

"That  was  kinder  bad  too,"  remarked  the  engin- 
eer, "seein'  that  the  bawdyhouse  next  door  never 
busted  a  cylinder-head. *' 

'  "That  shows  you  the  conductor  in  charge  of  the 
storm  has  no  religion  in  his  job,"  said  the  brake- 
man, "when  he  strikes  the  house  of  God  and 
spares  the  house  of  sin." 

"And  it  also  shows  the  injustice  of  Fate,"  said 
the  engineer.  "Because  it  is  so  much  easier  for  a 
keeper  of  a  bagnio  to  raise  money  in  this  country 
than  it  is  for  the  members  of  a  church." 

"Then  the  congregation  should  use  their  edifice 
for  the  more  remunerative  purpose,  even  if  they 
would  run  wild  on  a  down  grade,"  answered  the 
brakeman. 

"Perhaps  the  purpose  that  would  be  the  more 
suitable  to  you,  though,  would  not  be  agreeable  to 
others,"  followed  the  other  in  rapid  repartee. 

"You  seem  to  know  more  about  the  income  of 
the  two  callings  than  I  do,"  returned  the  other. 
"But  if  you  could  make  such  pick-ups  as  that 
fellow  Bynington  did  yesterday  you  could  give 


152       A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

more  money  to  the  churches,  and  then  not  be 
running  in  so  often  for  repairs." 

"That  was  a  married  lady  of  high  standing," 
broke  in  the  Superintendent,  "and  I  am  very  un- 
easy about  her." 

"Well,  it  is  liable  to  make  trouble  if  they  ever 
show  up,"  said  the  brakeman  dryly.  "Because 
after  being  out  this  long  by  themselves  they  have 
either  gone  to  rue  or  ruin.  Whether  they  have 
gone  over  the  hanging  wall  or  been  caved  down 
the  bank  the  collision  will  be  equally  disastrous." 

"It  is  too  bad  indeed,"  said  the  Superintendent, 
ignoring  the  other's  insinuations,  "and  her  hus- 
band is  on  this  train.  Even  if  they  took  shelter 
in  a  cabin  and  the  snow  did  not  break  it  in  they 
would  die  of  suffocation." 

"That  would  save  the  old  man  the  trouble  of 
getting  a  divorce,"  said  the  brakeman. 

"Well,  the  husband  will  have  to  be  notified  as 
to  the  present  phase  of  the  case,"  the  Superinten- 
dent continued.  "You  had  better  tell  Finn,  the 
passenger  brakeman,  to  explain  the  matter  to  the 
old  gentleman,"  as  Mr.  Finn  leaned  over  the  steps 
of  one  of  the  coaches. 

"Break  it  to  him  light  Finn,"  said  the  other 
brakeman.  "Just  tell  him  that  his  wife  was  seen 
last  alive  going  into  the  woods  with  a  bold,  bad 
man,  and  a  smashup  is  expected."  As  Finn  came 
up  and  was  duly  instructed. 


A  CHANGE   WITH  THB  SEASONS      15a 

But  Finn  very  prudently  brought  Mr.  Are  crave 
to  the  scene  and  had  them  explain  matters  them- 
selves. 

Mr.  Aregave  looked  considerably  haggard  and 
excited  when  he  came  out,  and  the  Superintendent 
started  in  at  once  to  explain  to  him  that  there 
were  grave  doubts  about  the  destination  of  his 
wife,  who  had  left  the  stalled  engine  on  the  grade 
the  night  before  in  the  company  of  Mr.  Byning- 
ton,  Mr.  Snowdown  and  wife  and  wife's  sister  and 
himself,  and  had  not  been  heard  of  since. 
(Though  the  management  of  the  Southern  Pacific 
Railroad  Company  of  Kentucky  would  do  all  in 
their  power  to  locate  her  and  her  friend,  and  re- 
store them  to  their  rightful  owners.) 

"You  don't  tell  me !  you  don't  tell  me !"  broke 
in  Mr  Aregave,  excitedly  ringing  his  hands.  "I 
would  rather  have  lost  twelve  per  cent,  twelve 
per  cent,  interest,  on  a  five  -  thousand  -  dollar 
mortgage  for  a  whole  year,  than  to  be  told  of  the 
like — she  would  go — she  would  go — twelve  per 
cent,  mind  you!  twelve  per  cent!" 

When  Mr.  Aregave  was  excited  he  always 
th  ought  of  "per  cent." 

"We  will  be  down  there  pretty  soon  with  this 
train,"  said  the  Superintendent,  "as  it  is  about 
shoveled  out,  and  we  will  put  all  our  force  to 
work  on  their  trail." 

"O,  mercy,  hunt  her  up!"  broke  in  the  hus- 
n 


164        A   CHANGE   WITH   THE  SEASONS 

band,  growing  more  excited.  "I  won't  have  to 
pay  the  cost — twelve  per  cent — twelve  percent ! — 
wife  lost !  —  money  gone  !  —  O,  this  infernal 
country! — this  devil's  country! — I  have  trouble 
every  time  I  come  up  here ! 

"Trouble,  trouble,  trouble. 

"Trouble  with  the  Indians,  when  I  come  this 
way  looking  for  gold  in  early  da}-s — trouble  with 
my  wife  and  young  friends  when  I  come  up  look- 
ing for  pleasure  at-  a  summer  resort — and  now 
more  trouble !  I  knew  she  would  be  the  death  of 
me!  Woman,  woman,  woman  !" 

"Very  likely  she's  'loped  with  t'other  man," 
broke  in  Finn,  the  passenger  brakeman,  who  was 
not  very  sentimental  over  love  affairs,  anyway, 
and  had  a  healthy  dislike  for  the  covetous 
millionaire. 

"Don't  you  say  it! — Don't  you  say  it,  you 
fiend!"  shouted  the  other,  shaking  his  fists 
furiously.  And  he  commenced  chasing  Finn 
around  the  cars. 

The  train  started  up  while  the  millionaire  and 
Finn  were  still  engaged  in  a  foot  race.  The  old 
gentleman  was  beside  himself  with  anger,  and 
anxiety  about  his  wife.  She  was  probably  the 
only  person  iu  the  world  he  had  any  regards  for, 
and  the  insinuating  remark  of  the  brakeman  was 
more  than  he  could  stand. 

He  chased  him  from  one   car   to    another   after 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS      155 

the  train  was  under  headway,  to  the  amusement  of 
other  passengers,  and  finally,  after  being  eluded 
by  Finn,  Mr.  Aregave  concluded  to  leave  the  train 
and  go  out  over  the  snow-bank  in  search  of  his 
wife. 

He  jumped  off  the  steps  of  one  of  the  coaches 
and  ran  up  the  steep  slippery  bank  of  snow  that 
had  been  made  by  the  plow. 


What  has  become  of  our  two  friends  and  the 
disciple  of  Koot  Hoomi's  cabin? 

I  suppose  the  reader  would  like  to  know  some- 
thing about  their  fate  by  this  time;  and  I  am 
afraid  to  go  and  draw  the  curtain  myself.  I 
know  the  reader  would  hate  to  hear  that  they 
had  perished;  he  would  also  hate  to  hear  that 
they  had  done  anything  wrong — so  would  I.  If 
it  turns  out  that  they  are  dead  beneath  seven  or 
eight  feet  of  snow,  who  will  be  to  blame  ?  Not 
the  present  scribe,  I  hope,  because  I  am  only 
chronicling  the  great  occurrences  that  took  place 
on  that  memorable  day — memorable,  especially  to 
the  simple  inhabitants  who  existed  in  that  neck  of 
the  woods  at  the  time. 

It  must  have  been  some  time  during  the  latter 
part  of  the  night  that  the  roof  of  the  small  cabin 
went  down  with  a  crash.  It  had  been  holding  up 


166       A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

a  surprising  amount  of  snow  for  a  structure  so 
frail,  but  a  time  had  come  when  it  could  bear  the 
strain  no  longer.  The  influence  of  the  Adepts 
of  Thibet  seemed  to  have  given  it  strength  up  to 
the  time  of  the  crash,  when  our  two  mortals 
found  themselves  struggling  among  a  mass  of 
broken  poles  and  snow.  Whether  the  mystic 
Brotherhood  withdrew  their  protection  because  of 
some  wrongdoing  of  these,  their  children,  after 
being  conducted  to  its  shelter,  or  whether  the 
cabin  just  simply  could  not  stand  up  under  any 
more  weight  will  never  be  known. 

Anyway  the  crash  was  something  frightful  to 
the  two  occupants.  The  supports  gave  wa}r  with- 
out any  warning;  but  they  escaped  being  hit  by 
any  of  the  flying  timber,  which  might  have  killed 
them  outright. 

They  commenced  a  life  and  death  struggle  with 
the  elements  which  were  trying  to  crush  and 
smother  them. 

In  his  desperate  floundering  Bynington  dis- 
covered that  the  rock  chimney  still  stood  up  in 
the  wreck  like  a  monument,  so  with  great  effort 
he  tunneled  his  way  over  to  it.  He  found  that 
the  fire  had  melted  the  snow  away  around  it,  that 
the  poles  were  held  up  by  the  rocks,  and  that  he 
had  standing  and  breathing  room.  He  took  a  few 
long  breaths  and  then  dug  in  the  debris  for  his 
companion,  whom  he  drew  to  his  side. 


A  CHANGE  \VI1H  THE  SEASONS      157 

They  both  breathed  an  air  of  relief,  and  then 
commenced  a  struggle  up  by  the  chimney  till  they 
reached  the  surface,  where  they  were  safe  from  a 
dreadful  death  which  threatened  them  a  few  mo- 
ments before;  but  they  were  still  in  a  sorry  plight. 

He  went  down  the  chimney  again  and  fished 
out  what  portion  of  their  wraps  he  could  find  near 
the  opening,  brought  them  up  and  wrapped  them 
about  his  shivering  companion.  Then  they  started 
out  to  breast  the  storm  again. 

It  would  be  long  to  tell  of  their  struggle  through 
seven  or  eight  feet  of  new  snow,  besides  the  old 
fall,  but  they  both  showed  more  courage  and 
fortitude  than  they  did  the  night  before,  and,  as 
the  storm  had  somewhat  abated,  finally  wallowed 
down  in  the  canyon. 

It  was  near  the  break  of  day  when  these  two 
exhausted  children  found  themselves  on  top  of  a 
little  house.  They  did  not  know  it  was  a  house 
till  they  were  on  the  roof. 

As  they  scrambled  over  it  they  could  hear  some 
one  talking  within.  It  was  the  voice  of  a  man, 
and  he  was  sending  a  string  of  oaths  up  through 
the  roof,  which  made  Bynington  at  once  guess  at 
his  profession. 

"Rachel,  them's  the  damn'dest  snowflakes  I  evr 
hard,  that's  fallin'  on  thur  rufe,"  said  the  voice. 
•'Its  nothin'  but  shivel  snow,  shivel  snow;  if  one 
was  unner  a  sawlog  in  hell  he'd  havter  still 

shivel  snow,  by .  I  jist  cleen'd  the  rufe 

ts 


158        A  CHANGE   WITH   THE  SEASONS 

offner  an'  now  its  comin'  down  agin,  like  hell. 
Godamn  sich  a  storm." 

"Lor,  Jasp,  them's  not  snowflakes,"  came  a  fe- 
male voice.  "Yer  lunt  hier  snow  falhn." 

Our  two  friends  slid  down  into  a  tunnel,  which 
Jasp  had  bored  out  from  his  door,  and  asked  for 
shelter.  They  met  the  man  coming'  out  to  shovel 
snow,  as  he  thought  the  sounds  they  made  on  the 
roof  were  caused  by  a  new  storm.  He  was  clad  in 
a  pair  of  overalls  and  a  red  flannel  undershirt,  and 
had  no  time  to  devote  to  stragglers  at  that  un- 
seemly hour.  Bynington  knew  he  was  correct  in 
his  surmises  of  the  man's  calling,  for  the  red  shirt 
at  once  denoted  the  make-up  of  a  bullwhacker. 
(He  wore  the  characterestic  garb  of  all  bullwhack- 
ers,  especially  in  bad  weather.  In  summer  time 
he  might  have  on  two  or  three  coats.  Red  shirts 
were  worn  in  the  days  of  Bret  Harte  in  California, 
but  now  no  one  but  bullwhackers  wear  them.) 

Bynington  was  bound  to  have  shelter,  if  he 
had  to  fight  for  it,  so  he  paid  no  attention  to  the 
oaths  fired  at  him  by  the  bullwhacker,  but 
assisted  Nina  in  the  house,  where  they  found 
the  bullwhacker's  wife,  Rachel,  to  be  a  very 
clever  person.  Their  teeth  were  chattering  to- 
gether at  a  dreadful  rate,  and  Nina  was  nearly 
dead;  but  Rachel  warmed  and  fed  them,  and  then 
sent  Nina  to  her  (Rachel's)  bed,  while  she  dried 
her  clothing  before  a  rousing  pine-wood  fire. 


A  CHANGE    WITH  THE  SEASONS       159 

She  heated  flannels  and  wrapped  about  the  poor 
thing's  knees  and  chest,  and  dosed  her  with  hot 
tea  till  she  fell  asleep.  Poor  girl,  she  must  have 
been  about  dead. 

About  noon  that  day  the  bullwhacker  might 
have  been  seen  wending  his  way  towards  the  sta- 
tion with  a  yoke  of  his  speediest  "critters"  hitched 
to  a  wood  sleigh,  and  Bynington  and  Nina  riding 
in  state.  The  lovely  woman  in  this  rude  turnout 
looked  as  attractive  as  Cleopatra  sailing  up  the 
river  Cydnus,  in  her  gilded  barge,  to  meet,  and 
capture  the  heart  of  Antouy  at  Cilicia. 

The  sun  was  now  shining  brightly  and  her  face 
was  as  radiant  as  the  sunbeams  dancing  on  the 
sparkling  snow.  These  two  children,  Bynington 
and  Nina,  loved  the  sunshine  as  man  and  woman 
never  loved  it  before.  They  were  cradled  be- 
neath a  southern  sun — especially  the  woman — and 
those  so  reared  are  never  satisfied  to  live  in  the 
shade.  So  in  the  warm  light  of  day,  after  coming 
out  of  so  many  scrapes,  they  were  both  cheerful 
and  happy. 

After  the  bullwhacker  had  Goddamned  the 
hearts  and  eyes  of  his  two  beeves  for  some  dis- 
tance, and  to  very  little  avail,  as  far  as  iraking 
time  went,  they  turned  a  sharp  curve  in  the  road, 
and  there — yes,  there,  sure  enough — was  the 
hotel  for  which  they  sought  the  night  before;  and 
there  was  a  train  coming  down  the  canyon  that 
looked  for  the  world  like  the  one  on  which  the 
lady  was  traveling  across  the  continent.  It  was 
the  south-bound  Oregon  Express. 

They  bade  adieu  to  the  bullwhacker  and 
resumed  the  journey  on  foot. 


160       A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 


CHAPTER     VI. 

When  Nina  looked  down  the  long  sweep  of 
river  and  snow-clad  wooded  hills,  and  saw  the 
train  whirling  around  the  curves  with  its  familiar 
aspect,  a  thousand  memories  rushed  into  her 
head.  The  color  left  her  cheek. 

"Only  a  day  !"  she  muttered. 

Her  companion  discerned  the  troubled  look  on 
her  face.  "If  we  had  known  how  near  we  were  to 
civilization  last  night,"  he  said,  "we  might  have 
reached  here  in  place  of  the  cabin." 

"If  we  had  then,  or  never,"  she  replied,  with 
firmly  set  lips. 

He  could  not  tell  whether  she  despaired  be- 
cause they  did  not  find  the  hotel  the  night  before, 
or  because  they  met  the  train  now. 

"Don't  you  think  it  was  some  kind  of  an  occult 
influence  which  led  us  to  that  little  refuge,  when 
we  might  just  as  well  have  reached  this  place?" 
he  said. 

"There  may  have  been  some  invisible  power  at 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASOKS      161 

work  behind  it  ail,"  she  answered.  "The  cabin 
and  the  oxman's  house  were  both  out  of  our  road." 

"There  is  certainly  something  mysterious  about 
that  little  hamlet  in  the  pines,  and  whatever  be- 
comes of  us  in  the  future  the  memory  of  it  will  be 
with  us  still." 

"And  what  a  memory  !  What  was  I  born  for?" 
and  she  hid  her  face  in  her  handkerchief,  and 
sobbed. 

He  was  beginning  to  feel  a  little  blue  himself, 
and  to  think  that  the  part  he  had  played  would 
not  redound  to  his  glory,  though  he  had  done  the 
best  he  could.  He  was  in  a  predicament  where 
heroes  very  seldom  appear. 

"Do  not  grieve,  little  one,"  he  said.  "You  are 
now  safe  from  your  trip,  and  going  back  to  the 
world,  where  you  can  share  in  all  its  brilliancy 
and  shine.  You  will  part  from  me  and  I  will  go 
out  in  the  night  alone.  If  only  some  of  those 
tears  were  because  of  that  departure  I  could  the 
better  return  into  the  darkness  and  solitude." 

"Don't  talk  to  me  that  way  !"  she  sobbed.  "My 
heart  is  already  broken.  You.  thin';  I  have  no 
feelings — I  am  not  going  any  further !" 

''Pardon  me  !  I  did  not  intend  to  hi  rt  your 
feelings  at  such  a  lime.  We  vill  have  to  go  on. 
Your  reputation  depends  on  it.  Go  down  and 
explain  matters,  and  we  v  ill  await  future  events. 
Whatever  feelings  sway  our  breasts  we  will  have 

39 


162        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

to  bury  there,  for  the  present.     Will  you  agree  ?" 

'•I  would  rather  not  explain  anything,  whatever 
comes  of  it,"  she  said. 

"Well,  will  you  agree  to  love  rne,  whatever 
comes  of  it?" 

"Ye-yes — I  will!"  she  whispered. 

"Without  equivocation  ?" 

"Yes — God  forgive  me,  and  forgive  us  both." 

"Amen ! 

"We  are  now  able  to  face  anything." 

"I  feel  a  presentiment  in  my  heart  that  all  is 
well,"  he  said,  after  a  short  pause.  "I  am  generally 
informed  in  seme  mysterious  way  in  advance  if 
anything  serious  is  about  to  happen  to  me  or 
mine,  and  by  conjuring  up  all  the  presentiment 
fibers  within  me  I  cannot  feel  one  suspicious 
twitch." 

So  they  resumed  their  journey  towards  the 
little  station  and  the  waiting  train. 

They  floundered  around  in  the  snow  and  finally 
reached  the  railroad  track. 

They  were  both  a  little  giddy  and  dizzy,  for  as 
much  as  they  tried  to  brace  their  nerves  they  were 
going  through  a  dreadful  ordeal.  Of  course  they 
could  explain  where  they  spent  their  time  by  the 
bullwhacker  and  wife — at  least  part  of  it — and 
that  would  do  for  an  explanation,  but  these  were 
two  children  of  deep  sentiment  and  did  not  care 
to  explain  anything. 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS      163 

They  brought  up  at  the  rear  end  of  the  Pull- 
man after  a  while,  and  ascended  the  steps,  where 
he  immediately  assisted  her  to  her  drawing-room. 


There  are  some  awkward  situations  in  this 
world  and  the  reader  has  good  cause  for  sup- 
posing that  he,  or  she,  is  facing  one  right  now. 
That  is  why  I  thought  it  best  to  make  a  little 
pause  here  and  give  the  dear  reader  a  chance  to 
collect  his  wits,  and  to  ponder,  if  possible,  ovar 
the  misadventures  of  this  world. 

Bynington  had  returned  the  lady  to  her  hus- 
band, but — well,  the  writer  does  not  intend  to 
moralize  over  it,  but  will  introduce  the  reader  di- 
rectly to  the  scene. 

When  the  lady  passengers  saw  Mrs.  Aregave 
return  they  went  wild  over  her. 

There  were  Mr.  Snowdown's  wife  and  sister, 
who  had  just  come  aboard  themselves,  and  they 
were  terribly  surprised.  They  had  given  her 
up  for  dead  long  ago. 

"Oh,  the  dear  girl! — the  dear  girl !" 

"She  has  returned!" 

"She  has  returned!" 

"She  has  returned!"  cried  every  lady  passenger 
together. 

"We  never  expected  to  see  you  alive  again." 


164       A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

"It  was  reported  that  you  perished  in  a  snow- 
bank last  night." 

"A  house  fell  down  and  crushed  you  to  death.'* 

"Or  WES  it  a  tree?" 

"Where  have  you  been  ?" 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"That  beautiful  color  has  left  your  cheek." 

"I  declare  it  has  !"  as  they  crowded  around  her 
and  all  talked  at  once. 

"The  poor  thing  looks  faint." 

"And  see,  her  skirts  are  all  bedraggled  with  the 
snow.'* 

"But  she  does  not  look  like  one  out  in  a  storm 
all  night." 

"I  believe  her  feet  are  wet." 

"Take  off  her  shoes  and — turn  the  men  out!" 

Bynington  went  to  the  buffet  and  ordered  the 
porter  take  a  cup  of  coffee  immediately  to  Mrs. 
Aregave. 

When  he  returned  to  the  drawing-room  he  was 
feeling  pretty  uneasy,  for  several  reasons;  and  he 
saw  that  Mrs.  Aregave  was  casting  an  eye  around 
as  though  she  expected  somebody.  The}r  were 
both  in  just  a  little  nervous  condition.  One  of  the 
lady  passengers  perceiving  that  she  looked  for 
her  husband,  explained  that  he  left  the  train  to 
search  for  her  and  had  not  yet  returned. 

"Why,  don't  you  people  know,"  shouted  Finn, 
the  passenger  brakeman,  coming  through  the  car, 
"the  old  fool  jumped  off  the  steps  when  the  car 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS      165 

was  in  motion,  and  attempted  to  run  up  the  steep 
bank  of  snow  (as  several  buJlheaded  jays  have 
done  before).  When  he  got  near  the  top  of  the 
bank,  which  was  about  ten  feet  high  (piled  up  by 
the  rotary)  he  slipped  back,  and  came  rolling 
down  under  the  wheels — about  four  sets  of  trucks 
passed  over  his  body — and  the  coroners  of  two 
counties  are  now  trying  to  gather  up  pieces 
enough  to  hold  an  inquest  on." 

The  women  all  screamed,  and  threw  up  their 
hands  in  horror. 

But  there  was  no  outcry  from  the  newly-made 
widow. 

She  had  fainted. 


Bynington  standing  on  the  platform  of  the  little 
depot  saw  his  old  friend  Viebrasit  getting  aboard 
the  train  in  the  custody  of  the  Sheriff.  He  had 
been  arrested  for  misappropriating  public  funds, 
and  was  being  taken  away  for  trial.  All  the  honor 
and  uprightness,  which  hedged  about  so  good  a 
mau,  was  gone;  the  idols  were  broken;  and  the 
whole  community  looked  down  upon  him  as  being 
a  bad  egg.  Even  those  he  had  befriended  shun- 
ned him,  and  they  were  many.  The  railroader, 
miner,  farmer,  sawmiller,  bull  whacker,  woodchop- 
per,  snovvshoveler,  teamster,  barber,  baker,  butcher 

43 


166        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

and  the  butcher's  boy,  all  held  themselves  aloft 
and  stood  on  their  dignity,  for  fear  he  might 
touch  their  uncontarninated  persons.  The  China- 
man and  negro  remained  in  the  background  and 
looked  wise.  The  latter  probably  would  have 
liked  to  give  him  some  information  about  the 
prison  wherein  he  had  been  incarcerated,  but  re- 
frained from  indulging  in  any  remarks. 

Bynington  looked  upon  the  virtuous  community, 
frowned,  and  boarded  the  train  without  bidding- 
anyone  adieu. 

While  brakeman  Finn  sung  out  "All  aboard !" 
There  was  a  change  with  the  seasons,  indeed. 


If  you  look  for  this  town  in  the  Sacramento 
canyon  now  you  will  be  disappointed.  The  hotel 
caught  fire  that  same  spring  and  burned  to  the 
ground,  and  the  inhabitants  have  all  moved  to 
other  parts.  The  town  is  a  thing  of  the  past  but 
the  cabin  wherein  the  Theosophist  dreamed  and 
the  lovers  sheltered  is  still  pointed  out  to  tourists 
as  it  stands  partly  dismantled  among  the  pines. 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS      167 


CHAPTER     VII. 

A  few  years  after  the  occurrences  chronicled  in 
the  foregoing  chapters  the  writer  found  himself 
out  on  the  great  South- Western  prairie,  some  miles 
from  auy  railroad  (I  will  not  say  where.) 

I  was  riding  along  on  horseback  one  fine  sun- 
shiny afternoon  over  an  unbroken  plain,  dotted 
with  cactus,  yucca,  mesquite  and  mescal,  and  the 
solemn  night-blooming  cereus  were  standing  up 
like  mileposts,  pointing  their  thorny  arms  into  the 
unknown  stretch  beyond. 

It  was  in  the  earl}'  months  of  spring,  when  the 
verdure  was  in  bloom,  the  wild  grass  was  inter- 
spersed with  delicately  shaded  flowers,  and  the 
usual  somber  gray  of  this  lonely  desert  waste  had 
taken  on  the  pleasant  hues  of  a  Persian  rug.  The 
scene  was  animated  by  a  band  of  cattle  grazing  in 
the  distance,  and  a  covey  of  quail  cooing  softly  in 
a  mesquite  bush  near  by.  A  lazy  lizard  was  bask- 
ing in  the  sun  on  a  leaning  chaparral  and  throw- 
ing up  his  jaw  to  catch  an  occasional-passing  fly; 
while  a  lanky  coyote  eyed  me  suspiciously  as  I 
jogged  by.  The  light,  dry  air  was  invigorating, 
and  one  was  filled  with  a  sense  of  contentment 
and  peace. 


168        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

My  way  led  across  a  cuesta,  or  rolling  hill, 
where  I  brought  up  by  a  prosperous  looking  cattle 
rancher's  home;  nestled  beside  a  cool  spring, 
which  was  bubbling  up  from  the  center  of  the 
earth  near  by,  making  a  genuine  oasis  in  the 
desert. 

The  rancho  was  a  long,  low  adobe  house  (casa), 
partly  hidden  by  vines  and  dowers,  which  were 
creeping  around  the  walls  and  doors;  and,  like  all 
similar  structures,  had  an  open  court  through  the 
center  where  the  warm  breezes  could  circulate 
among  the  thick  foliage  and  cool  off. 

I  alighted,  threw  the  reins  over  a  post  and 
saluted  an  aged  looking  Mexican  dame,  who  seem- 
ed to  be  mistress  of  the  ranch,  and  from  whom  I 
requested  a  drink  of  water. 

She  returned  my  greeting  with— "Buenos  dias, 
caballero!" — and  then,  like  all  Mexican  women  of 
the  frontier,  started  in  with — "Habla  V.  Espafiol, 
senor?" 

"Muy  poco,  senora;  pero  lo  entiendo  bastante." 

"Que  se  ofrece,  caballero  !" 

"Deme  roso  agua,  senora," 

"Si  senor." 

After  drinking  the  old  dame's  health  in  water, 
she  said — "Querria  V.  mejor  tomar  leche  ?" 

"Si,  senora." 

While  I  was  sampling  her  milk  she  a^ain  van- 
ished in  la  casa  and  returned  with  a  decanter  of 
wine  and  glasses,  which  she  sat  before  me,  and — 
"Quiere  V.  tomar  un  vaso  de  vino?" 

"Si  senora.     Bebo  a  la  salud  de  V !" 

"Como  encuentra  V.  el  vino,  senor?" 

"Esta  excelente,  delicioso.  Le  doy  a  V.  muchas 
gracias,  senora." 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS      169 

The  vintage  was  of  the  very  best,  and  I  felt 
greatly  refreshed  after  partaking  of  her  hospital- 
ity. The  reader  must  remember  that  drinking, 
most  anything,  is  the  principal  luxury  one  in- 
dulges in  on  the  desert. 

While  the  old  crone  had  been  generously  sup- 
plying me  with  refreshments  I  noticed  that  the 
house  was  rather  luxuriously  furnished;  fine 
works  of  art  hung  on  the  walls;  large  stacks  of 
books  were  thrown  around  in  odd  places,  and  the 
whole  establishment  had  an  air  of  comfort  and 
refinement. 

I  was  attracted  by  a  beautiful  little  girl  playing 
on  some  costly  furs  in  the  hallway,  whose  coun- 
tenance seemed  to  be  familiar,  though  I  knew  I 
had  never  seen  her  before. 

"Who  lives  here  ?"  I  asked  the  senora,  anxious 
to  know  the  name  of  the  happy  tenant  of  such  an 
oasis  m  the  desert,  and  also  curious  about  the 
child. 

"Sefior  Bynington,"  she  replied,  "and  there  he 
is  with  senora  riding  out  by  that  band  of  cattle." 

"Ben  Bynington?"  I  gasped. 

"Si,  senor." 

"Is  that  his  wife  with  him,  and  who  did  he 
marry  ?"  I  asked,  with  growing  anxiety. 

"Nina ! — she  first  married  antiguo  hombre  Are- 
gave." 

"Aregave  was  very  wealthy,  was  he  not?"  I  asked. 


170        A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS 

"Mucho,  mucho! — He  died,  and  Nina  gave  all 
the  antiguo  humbra's  money  to  his  poor  relatives; 
only  kept  her  own,  senor,  and  this  ranch  she  in- 
herited from  her  father.  All  the  same  as  un 
infante.  When  she  returned  with  el  senor  Byn- 
ington,  she  was  for  a  long  time  sad  and  heart- 
broken, and  the  happy  smile  did  not  return.  I 
cannot  see  why  she  should  be  so,  though,  because 
any  muger  ought  to  be  glad  to  exchange  an  old 
hombre  for  a  young  one.  But  she  seemed  to  do 
more  silent  grieving  than  if  she  had  killed  him. 
I  never  liked  him,  senor.  No  I.  Bynington, 
kind  and  good — " 

"So  they  live  here?''  said  I,  interrupting  the 
dame. 

"Si,  senor — they  pass  the  time  running  cattle, 
and  he  writes." 

"Whose  child  is  this?"  I  asked,  referring  to  the 
pretty  little  girl  with  its  father's  and  mother's  face, 
blended  into  one. 

"O,  this  is  little  Nina ! — their 's,  senor — la  hija — 
she  is  a  sweet  little  child  and  was  born  here,  on 
the  ranch,  like  her  mother  before  her.  I  have 
nursed  them  both. — Ellos  aman — amen  ellos." 

I  am  not  giving  to  kissing  other  people's  chil- 
dren; but  the  temptation  was  so  strong,  and  my 
heart  was  so  full,  that  I  had  to  take  this  dear  little 
girl  in  my  arms  and  kiss  her  sweet  face — for  her 
own  sake  and  for  the  sake  of  her  mother. 


A  CHANGE  WITH  THE  SEASONS      171 

After  saying — "A  mas  ver,  senora" — to  the  old 
dame,  and  receiving  a  hearty — "A  Dios,  senor" — 
in  return,  I  departed  in  silence,  and  had  many  sad 
and  contradictory  thoughts  as  I  took  my  way 
across  the  grassy  stretch  of  cactus,  mescal  and 
far-pointing  cereus.  My  heart  was  full,  and  I  do 
not  know  why  my  eyes  filled  with  moisture. 

Buried  from  the  world  on  the  desert;  they  have 
gone  back  to  primitive  life,  and  are  following  first 
principles.  It  is  just  as  well. 


While  waiting  for  the  train  I  picked  up  a  San 
Francisco  paper  and  read  the  headlines  of  "A 
Great  Sensation — Mrs.  Cloyd  Landers  has  Sued 
Her  Husband  for  a  Divorce — Mr.  Landers  is  again 
at  the  Keeley  Cure." 


THE  END. 


